


Three of Swords

by Hagar



Series: Children of Anat [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Provides Comfort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Parent Valentine Morgenstern, Gen, Good Friend Lydia Branwell, Jace Wayland Is A Child of Abuse, M/M, Parabatai Bond, Parabatai Feels, Season/Series 02, canon character death, complex PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29085177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hagar/pseuds/Hagar
Summary: Three of Swords: Sorrow. Heartbreak and disillusionment,  confronting painful truths, misplaced emotions in a relationship; insight, learning from adversity.Valentine makes a serious effort to break the Bond between Jace and Alec. It doesn’t work as planned.This story is complete and will update weekly.
Relationships: Alec Lightwood & Jace Wayland, Lydia Branwell & Isabelle Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: Children of Anat [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2133909
Comments: 63
Kudos: 36





	1. Four of Wands (Alec)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god this is finally happening! I actually started writing this immediately after I finished _The Woods_ , but got stuck. Not only did I get unstuck, but the next fic in the series is already more than half-written!
> 
>  **Love & Gratitute**. To firemedic2, whose enthusiasm and attention enabled me to get writing again; to just a Hoper, best editor ever; Daray, my beta reader along for this ride; and sapphire2309, who is there for me to squee and flail at. Couldn't do it without you guys!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perfected Work. Harmony, fulfillment, established partnership. Reversed: instability, setbacks.

_Saturday, September 10_

Alec stepped into the Institute to find it looking blessedly calm. The ops center was about a third full, and those Shadowhunters who were there were engaged in tasks that could be done at leisure, such as research and reviewing reports. The soft buzz was familiar and welcome; yet at the same time it impressed Alec with its freshness, as if it was new.

It had been that way for him the entire way back from Magnus’s - and, if he was honest with himself, at Magnus’s as well. The entire world seemed to have taken on a sheen. Alec put it up to the upheaval of the past couple of weeks - which culminated that very morning - and tried not to dwell on it; it was more pleasant than not, for the time being.

No one gave Alec more than a cursory look. That wasn’t surprising. He did look as if he’d been running - which he had, having opted not to take the subway on the way back - and while he’d missed the morning brief, that wasn’t mandatory on most days.

The only person who acknowledged Alec’s presence was Hodge. He was over at the training area, supervising some of the younger Shadowhunters as they practiced their knifework. Hodge caught Alec’s eye, and nodded. Something about the gesture seemed significant to Alec, but he wasn’t sure why. It could’ve been just the way the freshness made every little detail pop out; or it could’ve been because Hodge had been distant and careful with him these past weeks. Alec’s memory of that time was murky.

Either way, that was a problem for another time. Alec put it out of his mind and went to find Jace.

He found Jace in the first place he looked, at the courtyard the two of them liked for sparring practice. Jace was alone, though, doing sword drills. He seemed to be mostly recovered from his ordeal; and if he was a little slower than his usual, then Alec doubted anyone but the two of them and Hodge could’ve noticed.

Alec made to lean against a pillar until Jace finished the kata, but Jace was having none of that. He cut his training short as soon as he noticed Alec, and asked: “How did it go?” He emphasized the word _it_ slightly, a reminder that Alec was yet to tell him what it was.

“Good,” Alec said. “We’re good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Now are you going to tell me?”

Alec nodded, but said: “Not here.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “Lead the way.”

* * *

In retrospect, Alec should’ve known it wouldn’t go well.

Alec had to move quickly to block Jace from the room door. “Jace--”

“Don’t. I’m going to _kill_ him--”

“Jace, it’s _fine._ ”

“No, it’s _not_ fine, Alec. Nothing about this is _fine_. You just said--”

“The contract’s annulled, okay?”

Jace stared at him. Then, he said: “That’s what you were doing earlier, wasn’t it.”

“Yeah.”

“So he could’ve done this all along, and--”

“No, he couldn’t have. Magical contracts can’t be dissolved just by going ‘oops, I changed my mind’.”

“So, what changed?”

“Yesterday--” Alec stopped. The one word had already made Jace’s face freeze. The explanation was going to upset Jace even more; Alec knew that, even if he was too overwhelmed to work out why. He had to say it, though; it might be best if he just up and did it. “Magnus didn’t know-- how bad things were between us. That I tracked you through our Bond. He wouldn’t have said _that_ at all if he knew.”

Alec wasn’t wrong. Jace had to take a deep breath before he spoke, and his voice shook a little as he said: “And that’s enough to annul the contract.”

He still sounded angry but now there was another layer underneath that, an uncertainty that - Alec thought - wasn’t about the content of Jace’s words so much as about where the two of them stood.

“If both parties agree.”

“Wait, he had to--”

Alec just looked at him.

Jace opted to not chase that down. “And yesterday made... all _that_ come up,” he said instead.

This was Alec’s chance to respond to what Jace wouldn’t put into words. He let warmth seep into his voice. “Yeah. Got me to remember what’s important.”

As he’d intended, the statement made Jace’s shoulders relax. Some of the anger seemed to have faded, too. “And now what?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Alec said. “Things go back to what they were before.”

“And you’re okay with that? Just pretending this never happened?”

There was no pretending that the past ten days hadn’t happened. Alec wasn’t sure he would’ve wanted to, even if it were possible. The problem was explaining that to his parabatai. Alec reached inside, opened up to the Bond as much as he could; the clearer the view Jace had of his emotions, the better the odds that what Alec said would get through. “I knew better, okay? I did. I just… Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. But I did know Magnus couldn’t be serious, and I said yes anyway. This is on me too.”

Jace didn’t seem entirely convinced, but did let it go. His anger finally dissipated and turned into something more like his usual protectiveness. “Who else knows about this?”

“Just you. I told Hodge that Magnus defended Izzy pro bono.”

“And he believed you?”

Alec shrugged. “Magnus likes Izzy.” He couldn’t read the expression on Jace’s face; it looked a little like confusion, but wasn’t; the emotion behind it didn’t make sense to Alec, either.

“O-kay,” Jace said, pulling the syllables a little. “I’m not going to kill him. Or turn him over to the Clave. But only because you care.”

That wasn’t Jace’s usual turn of phrase, and the emotion behind it still made no sense to Alec. It didn’t matter, he decided; Jace wasn’t angry, or upset, or otherwise about to do anything stupid. The important thing was that the two of them talked, and it actually _worked_.

So instead of saying anything, and as he figured this time was his turn, Alec rolled his eyes.

Jace nearly smiled, so that must’ve been the right thing to do.

* * *

A few hours later, when one of the younger teenagers came to find them, Alec and Jace were out in the courtyard, training - at least in a manner of speaking. Mostly, they were letting the shared exercise and the good mood it brought them do the work of healing the tattered Bond between them.

The girl cleared her throat loudly to get their attention, declared “Director Branwell wants you in her office,” and left without bothering to wait for a reply or, indeed, acknowledgement. She didn’t need to specify which _you_ she meant: it was the both of them, or else she would’ve used a name.

Jace and Alec looked at each other. Jace shrugged, and Alec did the same in return. There were only so many reasons Lydia would want the both of them, but there was no point in trying to figure out which it was; they’d go to the director’s office, and find out.

They went upstairs.

Clary was already in Lydia’s office when they entered. Jace didn’t flinch or freeze, but Alec could tell by the spike in his heartbeat how near a thing it was. 

Instinctively, Alec took a half-step forward and put himself between Jace and Clary, blocking the direct line of sight between them. To _hell_ with the look Clary gave him; her presence upset Alec’s parabatai, and that was all he cared about. Her hurt feelings weren’t his problem; and besides, the sooner she learned that those had no place in a war, the better off they’d all be.

If Lydia noticed the momentary drama, she ignored it. She held out a strip of embroidered cloth, torn on one end, and said: “This came from the Book of the White.”

“And we know that because…?” Alec asked.

“Because Magnus had it in the other dimension,” Clary said. “The Book of the White, I mean. I recognized the bookmark among Ragnor’s things; this has to be it.”

Lydia continued. “I tried using the bookmark to track the book, but all I got was a headache. I was hoping you two would have better luck.”

Jace held his hand forward. “Only one way to find out. Ready?” he asked Alec, who carefully placed his hands over Jace’s and said: “Whenever you are.”

If ordinary tracking was meditation, then parabatai tracking was a trance. The key to tracking was to focus: hone in on what was being tracked and let everything else fall to the side, into shadows. Parabatai tracking depended on _not_ needing active focus to keep in sync with one’s partner; it was necessary for that to happen on its own. When two minds were synced together down to the barest ripple of thought and emotion, it allowed them to support each other, thus freeing more power for the tracking itself. Hands held together, eyes fastened to each other’s - it helped achieve that focus, helped the mind shed everything but the partner and the trace.

As it turned out, it didn’t matter that their Bond was still fragile. Habit and practice did their part, and Jace and Alec slid into sync within a single heartbeat. On the second heartbeat, everything faded away that should have. To no avail, though: the two of them lost their balance and nearly fell when vertigo hit.

“Let’s try again,” Jace said.

Lydia shook her head. “You don’t want that headache, trust me.”

“Is it because it’s a book of magic?” Clary asked.

“Probably,” Lydia replied. “Or else there’s some sort of spell protecting it.”

“Ragnor Fell seemed to think we could trace the book,” Alec said.

“Or he thought _he_ could,” Lydia said. “Warlocks _are_ better at tracking. I’ll call Magnus.”

Jace and Alec glanced at each other out the corner of their eyes. There was no spark of anger from Jace’s side; Alec wasn’t sure how he felt. It shouldn’t have been a problem, but his stomach did backflips anyway.

“Hopefully, he’s also recovered from yesterday,” Lydia continued. “All of you certainly seem to be doing better.”

At that, Alec and Jace openly looked at each other.

“Yeah,” Jace said, when the two of them finally broke eye contact to look at Lydia.

“Yeah,” Alec echoed. “We do.”

* * *

Clary called after Jace when they left the director’s office. Alec half-turned, ready to chase her away; but Jace made a small gesture with his hand, and the sense Alec got through the Bond might as well have been a shove: _I’ve got this, you can go._

Alec headed downstairs instead. There was always work to do at the ops center.

It also put him in a prime position to see Magnus arrive, almost an hour later, wearing a different outfit and different makeup than he had earlier. Alec had suspected that would be the case.

Magnus left about ten minutes after he’d come in. Soon after, Lydia came down to the ops center and asked Alec up to her office. “Camille Belcourt has the Book of the White,” she said soon as the door closed behind them. “I want your opinion on how to progress.”

Alec blinked, then said: “That depends on what sort of a relationship you want with her clan’s current leadership.”

Lydia leaned back against the desk. “You said the other day she turned Simon Lewis without his consent. That’s a violation of the Accords.”

“I did, and she had,” Alec acknowledged. “It probably wasn’t the first time she did that, but it’s one we can prove. If that’s how you want to proceed.”

“Actually, that’s exactly what I want your input on. You said Raphael Santiago is aware of Camille’s actions.”

“He would be, yes.”

“He chose to not turn Camille in to us. And you chose to let that go. Yes, I know it technically wasn’t your decision to make and that I arrived literally the next day,” Lydia waved her hand as she waived those arguments off. “But - and correct me if I’m wrong - I think that if you wanted it handled differently, you would’ve pursued the subject by now.”

The truth was that he’d hardly even thought about it. Lydia wasn’t off the mark, though: if he thought letting that go was the wrong thing to have done, he’d have brought it up, instead of leaving it be.

Lydia continued. “But now that we need something from Camille, I need your reasons.”

“You read Raphael Santiago’s file,” Alec said, playing for time while he sorted out his reasons for an instinctive decision he hadn’t revisited since he’d made it.

“He’s Magnus Bane’s protege,” Lydia acknowledged.

That wasn’t actually what Alec was thinking of - though now that Lydia brought it up, it wasn’t unrelated. “He’d been running damage control for Camille for literally decades. He’s the reason we even managed to leave the DuMort with Simon in the first place.”

“Running damage control _for_ her or _around_ her?” Lydia asked.

“Exactly,” Alec said. “He’s likely to be a better-behaved clan leader than we could’ve hoped for, and he’s been Camille’s second long enough that the clan is likely to accept his leadership.”

“And demanding Camille’s extradition will upset that.”

“It’ll definitely upset our relationship with him.”

“Do we have a relationship with him?”

“He literally stole Camille’s fledgling from under her and brought him to us, with the explicit understanding that we might stake the fledgling. Yeah, I’d say we have a relationship with him. Or at least, he has one with us.”

“In which he keeps his people in line, and we let him handle it when they don’t.” Lydia blew out a breath. “Magnus said Raphael has Camille locked down in the basement of the Hotel DuMort. Inside a coffin, and all. He’s _definitely_ not going to be happy if we want to talk to her.”

“We might get lucky and find the book in her belongings.”

“And if we aren’t lucky?”

“Then we’ll need to negotiate with either Raphael or the Clave. Raphael, to give us access to Camille; or the Clave, to let us handle things our way.”

Lydia looked pensive. “I might be able to get somewhere with the Clave. Do you want lead on the other scenario?”

Alec hesitated. It was diplomacy; it should be his job. But it was nearly guaranteed to lead to conflict with an as-friendly-as-they-got Downworld leader, and besides-- “Keeping Fray out of this may be impossible. Or at least not worth the effort. She’s been locked onto saving her mother from the minute she got here, and Simon Lewis gives her a connection to the clan.”

Lydia bit the inside of her cheek. “You two really don’t get along, do you.”

“You sound amused.”

“It _is_ kind of cute.”

Alec gave her a dubious look.

“Anything else?” Lydia asked.

“This is likely to require more deceit than negotiation. Izzy’s the better liar, and Clary trusts her. She’ll be better at keeping her in line.”

Lydia hesitated. “Off the record?”

“Off the record,” Alec confirmed.

“I’m thinking about the last time we aggressively approached a Downworlder. What are the odds that either of your siblings, or Clary, will stage a rebellion?”

The question hurt, but not because Alec hadn’t considered it. “Giving Izzy lead is the best way to avoid that,” he said honestly. “Clary doesn’t trust me, and Jace…” He hesitated over how, exactly, to say it. “Jace might go overboard to give Clary what she wants, which in this case is the Book.”

Lydia blinked. “And giving you lead means Jace’s direct involvement. Point taken.”

Alec hesitated.

Lydia must’ve noticed that, because she asked: “What is it?”

“This is-- weird. This…” He gestured helplessly, trying to come up with a polite way of explaining what the problem was.

Thankfully, Lydia got it. “You’ve only ever had your father as Director. Talking to me about Jace like this is weird.”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“I get it. It’s okay. I came in during a bit of an upheaval,” she said, and they laughed a little, awkwardly, at the understatement. “But hopefully, with time, I’ll have the kind of working relationship with your parabatai that means we won’t have to have talks like this one. But until then, the best way I can protect him is if you’re honest with me. In the meantime, I get that it’s a little uncomfortable. Okay?”

“Okay,” Alec said. “Should I find Isabelle for you?”

“No, it’s okay.” Lydia pushed herself off the desk. “I like your sister; I’ll fetch her myself.”

Alec smiled. “Good luck.”

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the Clave was initially unwilling to even hear anything about negotiating with the vampires. As far as they were concerned, the New York Institute could either move in like a steamroller or they could abandon that lead altogether. Lydia managed to talk them into giving the Institute more leeway, in exchange for transferring the Cup to Idris the same day instead of waiting on the wedding to be rescheduled. It was a symbolic price, more than anything; the only real cost associated with it was contracting Magnus again - Lydia would need a portal, and no one wanted to take any chances where the Mortal Cup was involved.

As plans went, it was a little finicky - everything involving vampires invariably was - but it wasn’t particularly complicated. Izzy might need to improvise, but the Clave-and-Cup side of things was entirely straightforward.

So of course, that was the part that went wrong.

Alec was supposed to meet Magnus downstairs and walk him up to Lydia’s office. Jace decided to do that with him; it was hardly a two-person job, but Jace clearly had a point to make. Luckily, Magnus didn’t seem annoyed by Jace’s hovering, so Alec didn’t need to mediate conflict between his parabatai and-- whatever Magnus was.

Then Alec pushed open the door to Lydia’s office to find her laying on the floor in the wreckage of the coffee table, hair soaked in blood.

Jace went to the vault; Alec and Magnus went to Lydia. Magnus checked her pulse while Alec pulled her sleeve back to find the conveniently-placed healing rune. Both of them took extreme care to not agitate her in any way: she’d clearly been _thrown_ , with considerable force, and had hit the coffee table without controlling her fall in any way. Spinal trauma was likely, and that was serious business, even for a Shadowhunter.

“Cup’s gone,” Jace said. “We need to lock down the Institute.”

Magnus looked at Alec. “With your permission…”

Magnus didn’t need a control panel; he could seal off the Institute right from where they stood. “Do it,” Alec ordered. He pushed himself up from the floor and went to the office’s door, from where he bellowed: “Medic!” Then he turned back to the room. “I’ll go check the security feeds. Jace--”

“I’ve got it.”

“I’ll come with you,” Magnus said quickly.

Alec shook his head. “Stay with Jace until we figure this out.” There was a traitor, an active Circle member in the Institute; Alec figured that odds were they’d attack a warlock before they’d attack another Shadowhunter. With Izzy gone to negotiate with the vampires, Jace was the only Shadowhunter Alec could truly trust.

“It’s a short list, Alec,” Jace said tightly. “Who else knew where you went yesterday morning?”

Alec took a second to think it through; then cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. The attack at Ragnor Fell’s; someone had told Valentine they’d be there. They deliberately kept everything to do with Jocelyn under close wraps, so there were only a few people who knew about that visit. The scene from the day before flashed before Alec’s eyes, everyone who knew--

He was shouldered out of the doorway by the medic he’d called for. Three other Shadowhunters came along as well. Alec glanced at Jace, who nodded. Then he turned back to Raj, Laney and Marina.

“Find Hodge,” he said.

* * *

They didn’t find Hodge, not at the Institute; he’d escaped already. He’d redrawn his deflect rune, but Magnus was right there, and warlock tracking _was_ more powerful. Even so, the deflect rune created enough interference that Magnus could only give them an area, not pinpoint coordinates. Jace solved _that_ by calling Luke Garroway. The former Shadowhunter couldn’t have been quicker to get his pack on the prowl.

The three of them - Jace, Luke and he - split up when they got close. Then, all Alec had to do was follow the sound: first the yelling, then the ringing of metal against metal, then finally the screams. Alec threw himself across the last few yards: Hodge was sprawled on the cement floor with Jace standing above him, his sword held high. Alec threw himself at his parabatai and tackled him to the ground before he could bring his sword down in a killing strike. Then he scrambled onto Jace, to hold him down.

“It’s over,” Alec said.

“It’s not over,” Jace replied hotly. “He’s a traitor, he deserves to pay.”

And he _would_ pay; the Clave wasn’t kind to those who stepped past the line, and Jace knew that. “You nearly killed him.”

Somehow, he didn’t expect Jace to say: “Maybe I should’ve.” Jace was often rash and impulsive, but this thirst for violence wasn’t like him.

Jace continued. “The Clave let him go once before, Alec. Look what that got us.”

“Then what are you going to do, go around killing every ex-Circle member?” Alec shook Jace as he spoke. “Even our parents?”

Jace reached up to grab Alec’s upper arm - not to try and force his way free, but to emphasize his words: “Robert and Maryse aren’t my parents.”

Alec couldn’t take that seriously. Jace seemed to have hit the bottom of the barrel on reasons. “You said it yourself,” Alec retorted. “They raised you. They _are_ your parents. Calm _down_.”

Reflecting Jace’s words to him was a good idea. Bit by bit, the fight drained out of Jace. Alec relaxed his grip so that it said _stability_ more than _restraint_ ; eventually, he let go.

Only then could he afford to notice that Hodge needed medical attention: Jace had cut off his hand at the wrist. Alec and Luke bandaged and healed Hodge best they could, but he’d need proper care sooner rather than later.

Then, Alec made the mistake of taking his eyes off his parabatai for twenty seconds to talk to Luke. In that time, Jace grabbed Hodge and disappeared. He’d taken the charmed ring, too, but that wasn’t what worried Alec the most: Jace had shuttered off the Bond on his end, enough that Alec could only just tell Jace was alive and whole. They never did that; just the other night, Jace was in pieces over Alec shutting him out that way. If Jace was willing to do that to himself…

Alec didn’t like what that said about Jace’s state of mind.

Luke sent his wolves to track Jace; Alec called Jace on his cell phone.

The latter panned out before the former did.

“Where the hell are you?” Alec demanded.

“Going after Valentine,” Jace replied. His voice was entirely too detached for Alec’s liking.

“You’re acting crazy,” Alec said. He was out of gentler words to describe Jace’s behaviour. “Whatever Valentine’s telling you, it’s not true.”

“That’s just it, Alec: it _is_ true. He’s my father.” On those last three words, some emotion finally seeped into Jace’s voice. Given everything else, it was unsurprising that that emotion sounded like bleakness and despair. “He taught me how to fight, how not to be weak--”

If this was _strong_ , then Alec didn’t want to know what _weak_ was _._ “You can’t let him control you like that. This isn’t you.” Maybe it could have been, in a world where Valentine had never made the mistake of taking himself out of Jace’s life; but it wasn’t the Jace who was Alec’s brother and parabatai.

“It _is_ me,” Jace replied, voice nearly a hiss. “It’s always been me. He raised me to be a killer, and I’m--”

Alec cut Jace off mid-sentence. “Fine.” With a little bit of luck, changing course from arguing with Jace to agreeing with him would slow Jace down long enough for Alec to come up with something.

This was like the previous night, Alec realized: Jace was fixated on some idea in his head, and the more he dug into it, the more it hurt him and sent him into a tailspin. The night before - and the days that had led up to it - it had been the idea that Alec didn’t want him anymore; now it was the idea that having been raised by Valentine had tainted him somehow, put him beyond others’ reach. Alec wasn’t sure why Jace clung so hard to the idea that Valentine was the only parent of his that mattered; maybe Jace valorized the father he’d had so much and for so long, that it felt like letting go of that would drop the ground from under him. Alec wasn’t going to get anywhere with words like _brother_ , like _parents_ and _ours_ ; he’d tried that already and it hadn’t caught. But in a stroke of insight, Alec realized that he had one more weapon in this fight, one that just might be enough.

“You’re Valentine’s son,” he forced himself to say; the words burned his throat coming up, as though they were venom. “But that’s not all you are. You’re also my parabatai. And where you go, I will go.” His voice broke on the words. He had to mean it, had to make the truth of it reverberate through the Bond - that he would follow Jace anywhere, Valentine’s side included; had to make Jace realize that going after Valentine this way would do the exact opposite of protecting anyone Jace loved. If there was one thing Jace couldn’t help but do, it was protect people; if Alec could say _Where you go, I will go,_ and _mean_ it, it just might be enough to convince Jace to _not_ go.

Valentine may have raised Jace during his early years, may have taught him the foundation to all he knew, and may have shaped the basis for _who_ Jace was, but Alec had a direct claim to Jace’s very soul. This _had_ to work.

Jace didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to: the dam he’d put up on his side of the Bond fell apart, and everything Jace was feeling came rushing at Alec like a flood. Alec closed his eyes and forced himself to hold still as the onslaught of emotion crashed down on him, to let his breath fall into sync with Jace’s: ragged and shallow and more than halfway to sobbing.

Alec couldn’t afford to fight this, to resist this in any way; he had to step down on his white-hot anger that Jace believed he was doomed, or the sense of insult that Jace was more invested in the father who’d abandoned him than the family that took him in. None of that was going to help. Alec had to accept what Jace was feeling just as it was, because to reject that was to reject _Jace_ , and one wrong move would send him running straight into Valentine’s waiting arms.

They stayed on the line like that for a while. Then there was a soft noise in the background on Jace’s end, and Luke came on the line.

“We got him,” Luke said. “We got them both. I don’t know what you said, kid, but it was the right thing to say. Now stay put, all right? Gretel’s coming to fetch you, and I won’t be letting go of your parabatai until you get here. Okay?”

Alec let his breath out in a sigh. “Okay.”

* * *

Gretel was a white wolf who seemed more fur than muscle; but nevertheless, Alec had to redraw his runes to keep up with her on their way to where Jace was.

When they got there, Gretel joined most of the other wolves, who were keeping a perimeter; one wolf was sitting on Hodge’s back, who was laying face down on the pavement. Alec took in those details on autopilot, then honed in on what mattered to him: Jace, who was standing over to the side. Luke was next to him, attempting to physically hold on to him.

Jace didn’t take well to anyone he didn’t think of as family touching him.

He pushed himself off the wall as Alec approached; he was moving stiffly, and had a look in his eyes that suggested he was _so_ engaged in some inner battle that he didn’t really notice the outside world.

Wordlessly, Alec pulled him into a hug. Jace pressed his face against Alec’s shoulder, but he remained stiff. When he began to thaw, it was into tremors and shakes rather than anything resembling relaxation. Alec just stayed put and let Jace hold on to him and let it out, like they’d done the night before.

They were going to get through this.

* * *

_Sunday, September 11_

It was a good thing they had Luke with them: he’d thought to call the Institute and ask for a team to escort Hodge to Silent City, where he’d be held until his trial. Alec and Jace returned to the Institute to find a message from Izzy saying that she and Clary would return an hour or two after first light, and not to worry. Lydia was still in the infirmary and still unconscious, but the medics were cautiously hopeful that she wouldn’t need to be transported to Idris. All in all, things seemed calm enough that Alec figured they could catch up on sleep - he, at least, was decidedly feeling the exertion of the day before.

He really should’ve known not to leave Jace alone; or, failing that, to put that ring in a damn vault. He didn’t, though, and so Jace came to find him not long after sunrise, a wild look in his eyes.

“He’s going after Clary.”

“How do you even know that? If you went and put that ring on again--”

“--then it’s a good thing I did because he knows where Clary and Izzy are. And don’t tell me that Valentine’s lying because he _said_ where he’s going and I called Clary and the locations line up.”

Alec bit back a curse. “I’ll get my bow.”

* * *

They were too late: when they rushed into Camille’s apartment, it was to find Izzy, Simon and - of _all_ people - Magnus, held at swordpoint. Clary alone stood free, her arms occupied with a heavy volume; that had to be the Book of the White. Over to the side of the room, an open portal glowed.

There were four or five of Valentine’s men for each one of them; this wasn’t a fight they could win, not without casualties.

Jace charged right in regardless, with a cry of: “Stop!”

All that got them was a sword to Izzy’s neck.

Jace stopped in his tracks, only a few feet away from Valentine.

“Ah, Jonathan,” Valentine said, his voice eerily pleasant. “Finally ready to kill your own father?”

“You abandoned me!”

“I was protecting you,” Valentine corrected.

While they were talking, Alec took better stock of the situation. Yes, they were outnumbered, but these were newly-made Shadowhunters; no way did they know how to fully use what they had. If there was any way they could turn the tables, Alec was determined to find it.

“Fight me, and watch your friends die,” Valentine said, calmly. “You’re strong, but they make you weak.”

“Let us go,” Clary said; Alec wasn’t sure if her voice was calm or resigned. “You can have the Book; we won’t be able to stop you without it.”

Resigned it was, then.

“Ah, Clarissa.” Valentine turned around. If only there wasn’t a sword to both Izzy’s and Magnus’s necks, Alec would have jumped at the opportunity and shot him then and there. “ _So_ like your mother; always willing to do anything for those you love. I’m touched, but-- the Book was never part of my plan. I want you to wake up your mother. You’ll both join me,” he continued, light in face of Clary’s shocked expression. “It’s fated.” Then he turned around and smiled at Jace. “Ready?”

“Jace,” Alec said tightly. “Don’t.”

Jace, though, was taking stock of the room, doing the same analysis Alec had moments before: there was no way for them to win this fight and have all of their party survive.

Jace lowered his sword part-way. “If I come with you, promise you won’t hurt them?”

Later, Alec would think of those words, and realize how childlike the phrasing was, how atypical of Jace. In the moment, though, he was re-evaluating his options, trying to think like Jace and figure out how many of the enemy he could take out if he was willing to take risks.

“You have my word,” Valentine said.

Jace lowered his sword the rest of the way.

Valentine began walking towards him, slowly, as if Jace was a wild animal he didn’t want to spook.

“What are you doing?” Clary demanded. “Jace, this is insane. Valentine’s wrong, you’re not like him--”

Jace cut her off. “You don’t know that, Clary.”

Gently, Valentine took Jace’s arm. “Let them go,” he ordered his men.

As soon as they did, Alec released the arrow he’d had notched that entire time and reached for another; simultaneously, Izzy lashed out, catching one of Valentine’s men with an elbow to his jaw then unfurling her whip.

That was as far as they got before one of the Circle members grabbed Simon, the most vulnerable of their number. Alec hesitated; he couldn’t knowingly sacrifice someone who’d done no wrong, not even a vampire. Izzy must’ve felt the same way, because she stopped too.

The Circle member who’d grabbed Simon backed away until he was standing right by the portal, as far out of their reach as he could get. Meanwhile, Valentine positioned Jace and himself so that they’d be the last to pass through the portal.

Jace locked eyes with Alec. “Alec…”

“Jace…”

“Watch out for Clary.”

Then Simon was pushed free, and Valentine pulled Jace with him towards the portal--

Clary threw herself forward--

Alec moved before his mind fully processed what was happening. Clary struggled in his arms, but Alec didn’t let her go until the portal blinked shut.

“What are you doing?” she cried out.

“Saving your life,” he shot back. His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. It was as if the world had turned into a series of snapshots, with no connecting thread between them. His mind wasn’t working right; he heard himself explain to Clary why jumping blind through a portal was a bad idea, but it didn’t quite feel as if he was the one speaking.

Clary was crying in his arms, but all he did was stand there. He knew he should try to comfort her, or else let her go and let someone else do the comforting, but he was too distracted by the _wrongness_ of everything to do either of those things.

Izzy pulled Clary off him; she spoke in soothing tones as she tried to calm Clary and Simon both.

“Alexander?” Magnus touched his elbow.

Alec startled. He hadn’t even noticed Magnus approaching him.

“What’s wrong?” Magnus asked, gentle and careful.

Alec looked at him, at a loss for words. It was strange, needing to explain himself to Magnus; he wasn’t used to that anymore. The thought lingered. Then, with a dawning horror, Alec realized what was wrong, so _terribly_ wrong.

“Jace,” he said. His voice still sounded strange to his own ears, but at least now he knew why. “I can’t feel Jace.”


	2. Eight of Swords (Magnus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortened Force. Inner conflicts, anxiety. Reversed: movement, overcoming fear.

_ Saturday, September 10 _

On Magnus's first visit to the Institute that day, Alec was so engrossed in the tactical display he seemed to not notice Magnus’s presence; on Magnus's second visit, Alec was waiting for him at the ops center - or, more accurately, Alec and his parabatai were. It was difficult to mistake Jace’s body language: Jace stood behind Alec and a little to the right, his chin tucked in, feet in perfect parallel, and arms loose to the sides of his body just so. It was the posture of a swordsman ready to draw his sword, and it positively screamed that Jace did not trust Magnus with Alec - or, indeed, at all. It was so obvious that Magnus almost wondered how it didn’t attract more attention from the other Shadowhunters - but only almost: he well knew that the most likely explanation was that the other Shadowhunters didn’t care for a warlock’s presence either, and were perfectly happy to let Jace do the posturing on their behalf.

Alec was also ignoring Jace’s posturing, but that had a different quality to it. There was a pointedness to the way Alec kept his back to Jace, to the way he said “Magnus” in greeting; it suggested that Alec was actively ignoring Jace’s silent message rather than merely failing to notice it.

It was endearing, really: both the way Alec managed to communicate an eye-roll without actually rolling his eyes, and the way Jace made it abundantly clear that he knew of the events of the past ten days and was far from happy about it. So Magnus chose to follow Alec’s lead, and pleasantly replied: “Alexander.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Alec’s mouth for a split second. Then he schooled his features into a professional mask and said: “Lydia’s upstairs in her office.”

Magnus spread his hands to the sides. “Lead the way.”

He knew where the director’s office was, of course; it hadn’t moved in the entire time that there’d been a New York Institute. Still, the Shadowhunters were clearly nervous about transporting the Cup. Magnus wondered if they realized what their nervousness meant: that they didn’t trust their fellow Shadowhunters, not really.

Yet, when Alec opened the door to reveal the injured Lydia, Magnus’s first thought wasn’t that clearly, that suspicion was justified; it was that the blood was already tacky and half-dried, which - given how much of it there was - meant that Lydia had been there for quite some time.

Lydia’s pulse was weak but steady; that, at least, was good news. Then Jace said “Cup’s gone” and startled Magnus into looking up.

Jace continued, “We need to lock down the Institute.”

Odds were that whoever had stolen the Cup fled as soon as they had it and were long-gone, but that wasn’t Magnus’s call. He looked at Alec, who’d also knelt by Lydia’s side. “With your permission…”

Alec didn’t hesitate. “Do it,” he said promptly.

Magnus hadn’t built the Institute’s wards from scratch, but he’d tuned and tweaked them so many times over the years that he may as well have. It only took a breath and a drop of magic to raise the wards as tight as they could go.

Alec pushed himself up and went to the door, to call for a medic. Magnus knew enough about Shadowhunters to know that there were even odds that they’d need to evacuate Lydia to Idris.

Because, clearly, if the Institute had a Director who seemed to actually respect Magnus, she wasn’t going to last. On the bright side, that wretched wedding would get postponed even further.

Meanwhile, Alec turned back to the room. “I’ll go check the security feeds. Jace--”

“I’ve got it.”

“I’ll come with you,” Magnus said quickly. He had no interest in remaining alone with Jace, and he doubted he’d be invited to help in the healing.

Alec shook his head. “Stay with Jace until we figure this out.” Something in his tone of voice suggested to Magnus that that wasn’t because Alec didn’t want Magnus’s company.

Jace must’ve heard that something too, and had better insight, because he spoke again, responding to something Alec never said out loud. “It’s a short list, Alec. Who knew where you went yesterday morning?”

The shax demon attack, Magnus realized. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but now it was alarmingly clear that the timing of the attack hadn’t been a matter of luck. Odds were that whoever had attacked Lydia and stolen the Cup had also told Valentine where to attack and when.

It was, in hindsight, perfectly obvious.

A short Shadowhunter pushed Alec out of the doorway and headed for Lydia, her stele already out; that must be the medic. Magnus hurriedly stood up before she - or the three Shadowhunters who’d arrived with her - said something painfully and predictably asinine.

“Find Hodge”, Alec ordered the three. A beat after they disappeared, he strode off as well, likely to check the security feeds.

Jace looked at Magnus. “Do you need to lower the wards to leave?”

“No.”

“Good.” Jace said. He stepped away from the open vault and towards the door. “Then let’s go.”

* * *

By the time he got home, Magnus had a splintering headache. It would be useless to try and magic it away, he knew; it was a side effect of how completely he’d exhausted himself the day before. Instead, he picked up a glass of water and the Mundane migraine medicine he kept around precisely for such occasions. Then, he returned to what he was doing earlier.

Ragnor was still at Catarina’s, and likely to stay there at least a week. He had come too close to dying. Catarina had hooked him up to Mundane monitors which she’d enspelled so they could alert her no matter where she was. That hadn’t happened yet, mercifully, and the odds that it would happen lessened with each hour that passed.

The monitors were the least of it, though; Catarina had Ragnor on a half dozen different potions to keep him stable and asleep so he could heal. Catarina held a Mundane job and, unlike Magnus, typically refused to take expensive commissions; so Magnus took it upon himself to replenish relevant ingredients. Earlier that day he’d brought over a delivery of everything it occurred to him she would need, but she’d since sent a list of everything that hadn’t occurred to him. Some of those he had enough of, and some he’d need to restock. He’d been dealing with that bit by bit throughout the day, tackling Catarina’s list by sorting and grouping ingredients by which source to procure them from.

It was dark already, but the job wasn’t yet done. Headache or not, Magnus still had errands to run.

* * *

_ Sunday, September 11 _

He didn’t count on getting only four hours of sleep at night, but then, he also didn’t count on Clary Fairchild showing up at his doorstep not an hour after dawn. That being the case, though, he wasn’t surprised that she’d brought Camille - not when the key to waking up Clary’s mother was in Camille’s possession.

Still, he was tempted to pour vodka into his coffee to go with the extra sugar.

“So, Magnus, how long has it been? One hundred, one hundred and fifty years?” Camille asked as she sauntered into his living room the way she did everywhere - that is, as if she owned the place.

“One hundred and thirty-eight,” he replied. “Oddly, I haven’t missed you.” That wasn’t true in the strictest sense of the word - of course he’d missed her at times; or missed what they used to be, or could’ve been, or what he’d imagined they’d been. Either way, it was the principle of the thing.

Camille must’ve understood exactly what he meant - and chose to ignore it. “Of course you have, my love.”

He couldn’t even tell if she was being sarcastic.

Helpfully - if likely unintentionally - Clary broke the moment. “You two can catch up later. Right now we need to find the Book of the White.”

Camille’s voice hardened. “And you will. But not without payment.” She looked back at Magnus. “You of all people should understand that.”

Oh, they were playing Downworlders versus Shadowhunters now, were they? “Of course,” he replied, matching the tone of voice Camille used on him only a moment before. “And what is it you require?”

Her voice turned hard again. “A clean slate.”

“She wants a writ of having turned me into a vampire,” Simon supplied before Magnus could make any sort of a comment about that.

“And we need you to draft it,” Clary added.

Because of course Camille would relish in making him complicit in her proclivities, as she called them. “And I thought I was done with you.”

Oh, Camille understood exactly what he meant. If he’d missed it in her eyes, he would still have heard it in her reply: “We’ll never be done with each other,” where by we she meant herself, and by each other she meant him.

One hundred and thirty-eight years later, and having loved her was still such a large part of him.

* * *

Magnus excused himself from the room as soon as they reached Camille’s apartment. He wasn’t sure why he’d even come along; perhaps because Camille clearly wanted him to witness this, and, as much as he didn’t trust her, he figured the odds of her reneging on the agreement were lower if she got what she wanted in full.

He wasn’t sure if coming along was a mistake, but separating himself from the group had evidently been one. It meant that he was alone when the Circle members came. They may have been newly-made Shadowhunters, but they weren’t newly trained; he didn’t have their speed or their brute strength, and he still had that headache.

Moments later, when he was marched into the anteroom, he realized it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d stuck with the group. Valentine had clearly come prepared; the wide-open portal across the room indicated he’d gone so far as to wrestle into complicity some poor warlock who’d been to Camille’s private residence before.

Magnus wondered how Valentine would fare with Mundane travel, if he achieved his goal and there were no more warlocks to open portals for him; or if he’d keep one, or a few, enslaved. Knowing Valentine--

Magnus’s musing was cut short by Alec and Jace barging in from the front door.

“Stop!” Jace shouted.

The Circle member who had Isabelle pressed his sword closer against her neck. That was a question to pursue when they got out of this mess, assuming that they did: where did Valentine’s new Shadowhunters get seraph blades?

Jace stopped in his tracks, only a few feet away from Valentine. A few steps behind him and a little to the side, Alec had an arrow ready to go and was taking the room in, eyes flickering from target to target, his head unmoving. The promise of lethality that held was oddly comforting.

But Valentine didn’t care about Alec; or, indeed, about any of them but one.

“Ah, Jonathan. Finally ready to kill your own father?”

Magnus wondered what Valentine would do, were Magnus to point out how alike he and Camille were.

Alec’s eyes were still darting across the room. His expression was tighter. He was still looking for a way out, Magnus realized; he didn’t yet have experience with Valentine, hadn’t yet learned how wily the genocidal Shadowhunter was.

“Fight me, and watch your friends die,” Valentine told Jace, calmly. “You’re strong, but they make you weak.”

So much like Camille, indeed.

“Let us go,” Clary said. Her voice didn’t shake at all as she continued. “You can have the Book; we won’t be able to stop you without it.”

Valentine turned to face her. “Ah, Clarissa. So like your mother; always willing to do anything for those you love. I’m touched, but-- the Book was never part of my plan. I want you to wake up your mother. You’ll both join me; it’s fated.”

Magnus strongly doubted that Valentine had never planned on getting his hands on the Book - or else that he’d never intended to stop Clary from obtaining it. That didn’t line up with him sending the shax demons, the other day. No, Valentine was still what he’d always been, a liar and an opportunist, twisting his plans to fit the circumstances.

Valentine turned back to Jace. “Ready?” he asked.

“Jace,” Alec said tightly. “Don’t.”

Jace lowered his sword.

Oh. Oh. So that was what Valentine had come to do: not retrieve the Book, but retrieve his son.

Magnus averted his gaze. He couldn’t watch this, not so shortly after the past couple of weeks. He’d spent ten days intimately tangled up in how much Alec was suffering from missing Jace, and no matter that that separation was by Alec’s own choice. As he listened to the scene unfurling right next to him, Magnus understood - viscerally - what it meant for Alec, what this was going to do to him.

He’d had a rough couple of weeks. On top of that, it hadn’t even been two days since Magnus used up his magic to the point of utter collapse. He was too tired for this, too tired to witness it properly.

The Shadowhunter who was holding him let go.

Alec’s bow sang.

When Magnus looked up, one of Valentine’s Shadowhunters had grabbed Simon again and thus stopped Alec and his sister in their tracks.

Jace was at the front of the Circle group - or at their back, depending on how one looked at it - shielding them with his body as they retreated to and through the portal. He locked eyes with his parabatai. “Alec--”

“Jace--”

“Watch out for Clary.”

Then Simon was pushed free, and Valentine pulled Jace with him through the portal.

Clary launched herself forward but Alec caught her in time, quicker than the rest of them. He didn’t let go of her until the portal closed.

“What are you doing?” she screamed at him.

“Saving your life,” Alec replied, and Magnus knew that something was wrong, more wrong than he’d thought. The last time Alec looked like this had been at Isabelle’s trial.

Clary was crying in his arms, but predictably - to Magnus, at least - Alec didn’t respond to it at all, not even to scold her for the emotional outburst. Magnus waited until Isabelle pulled Clary over, then gently touched Alec’s arm. “Alexander?”

Alec startled.

“What’s wrong?” Magnus asked, casting his voice as carefully and as softly as he could.

Alec stared at him as if from a great distance, or as if the words didn’t make sense to him at all. For a fleeting moment Magnus thought that Alec felt it too, the frustration that Magnus couldn’t just know, anymore.

Eventually, Alec managed to make his voice work. “Jace,” he said. His voice was as hollow as his eyes. “I can’t feel Jace.”

* * *

Magnus only just managed to focus his thoughts long enough to conjure a portal and step through it to his loft. Once there, he headed straight to the safe to place the Book of the White there. Oh, he’d need to locate the spell that had put Jocelyn into enchanted sleep, then study its counter-spell, but there was no point attempting that when his mind was racing so.

It’d been a little over twenty-four hours since Alec and he had annulled the contract. Magnus hadn’t expected how that would affect him, but then, Magnus had been spectacularly failing at predictions where Alexander Lightwood was concerned.

Magnus had resented the spellbond at first; he remembered that. He’d resented having to feel pain that wasn’t his own, and having to factor that pain into his every decision; he’d resented the commitment he’d taken on without realizing. Later, though, he came to relish the opportunities that it gave him: the chance to help, to soothe, to heal. Caring always did come easily to him. But once free of the Bond-- it was as if he’d forgotten, over those ten days, how invasive the Bond was and how much he’d never wanted it. That memory came rushing in once the Bond dissolved, and Magnus was left unsure, wondering: had it really been just his caretaking rising to the task, or had that been the spellbond’s power, twisting his emotions and warping his judgment? There was no way for him to know, and that scared him.

And now, this. It felt as if the universe was piling on obstacle after obstacle against whatever chance he and Alec had. Perhaps he should take the hint and give up. Yet, even as the thought occurred to him, Magnus knew he wouldn’t be able to, not now that his heart had opened up again and he remembered why the games of the heart were well worth the pain. Or at least, he thought sardonically, why it felt as though they were worth it.

Magnus couldn’t think through all these contradictory, conflicting emotions. He had to clear his head somehow. For a few moments he stood in the middle of his living room, indecisive. Then he summoned up a brioche, a bottle of Bailey’s, and another portal, and went over to Catarina’s.

He portalled just outside her front door. When she opened it a moment later she was still in her scrubs but already had a cup of coffee; she must’ve just gotten home from a night shift.

“Oh good, you found the coffee,” he said lightly. He’d left her a bag of the good coffee together with the potion ingredients, the day before.

“Let me guess,” she said as he stepped in. “You’re going to ask if I want French toast for breakfast?”

“How did you ever guess?” he asked, still light. It was a rhetorical question; he was carrying a loaf of brioche, and she did prefer French toast to eggs Benedict.

She locked the door behind him and shook her head. “You’re spoiling me.”

* * *

He ended up visiting the Institute two times that day, as he had the day before. The first visit, around midday, was to wake Jocelyn. The Institute had been nearly empty at the time; with Lydia unconscious, Alec had sent everyone out on a foot search to look for where Valentine’s ship was docked. On the second visit, after dark, the Institute was bustling again: Lydia had reversed Alec’s orders and had had normal operations resumed before she’d used the same authority to summon Magnus to try and track Jace.

Lydia was the one who met him at the door, holding Jace’s grey hoodie - and how sad was it, that this was the most personal item that could be found? That was as far as they got before Isabelle was there, and clearly not for Magnus.

“Any word from the Clave?” Isabelle asked Lydia as the three of them headed towards the ops center.

“Not yet, and I’ve been trying for the past four hours,” Lydia replied. “Something’s up.”

“The Clave being unhelpful - who’s shocked?” Magnus asked dryly. “Show of hands.”

The Look Lydia gave him was distinctly unamused. Oh well, at least Magnus had discovered how far he could push her.

Alec stepped away from one of the tactical desks and joined them. He looked unwell. That wasn’t exactly a surprise, and yet, Magnus didn’t expect twelve hours to put that much pallor in Alec’s skin and deepen the shadows under his eyes quite this much.

“I’m worried,” Alec said. “I can’t sense Jace through our parabatai bond.”

“We’ll find him, Alexander,” Magnus said. He cast his voice as solidly and warmly as he dared in front of so many Shadowhunters.

“Hodge said Valentine was on a ship,” Isabelle said. “Maybe they’re still over water.”

That’s what they were hoping: that so much ocean water was interfering with the parabatai bond. If that was the problem, then Magnus should be able to trace Jace, albeit with effort. The second-best possibility was that Valentine was holed up in some alternate dimension. Magnus would be able to tell if that were the case, but they’d need Faerie help to actually find Jace.

There was a third possibility. It seemed to have not occurred to the Shadowhunters, so Magnus didn’t bring it up; but it was possible that either the warding or the glamour on Valentine’s ship were interfering with the Bond. Magnus figured the odds of that were about the same as the odds of Valentine using an alternate dimension; of those two possibilities, he preferred the latter.

Unfortunately, it was looking like the former: Magnus couldn’t get a signal at all.

“Anything?” Alec asked anxiously.

Magnus shook his head. “Sorry.”

“There’s got to be something!”

Magnus eyed him carefully. Moments before, Alec had been stony and tense, but now he was openly agitated, and either wasn’t trying to or couldn’t keep a lid on it anymore. Magnus was pretty sure that was a bad sign. Out loud, he said: “I don’t see him.”

Alec turned away abruptly. Then he did something Magnus hadn’t known he was capable of: he bypassed a superior when she was right there.

The confrontation was brief, but ugly: in the end, Lydia had to make her decisions an explicit order, and dismiss Alec just as explicitly.

“Fine,” Alec spat, and turned away.

Magnus didn’t like Alec’s body language; he had an idea about what Alec might do - several ideas, in fact, and all of them bad. But, he thought, perhaps he could help. _I wasn’t wrong to trust you,_ Alec had said, a day and a half ago. That trust had to count for something. With a little bit of luck, maybe Alec would agree to fall back to what was now a familiar pattern, and let Magnus in.

“Hey,” Magnus said gently. He reached for Alec’s elbow.

Alec pulled away from Magnus’s hand as if it was an open flame, and snapped: “Back off!” His eyes skittered across the room; Magnus doubted Alec actually saw what he was looking at, so wild was his gaze. “Everybody, just-- back off!”

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

Magnus found Alec on the roof, right where his sister said he would be.

Alec glanced over his shoulder at the metallic squeak of the door, then turned back to the night. “I’m sorry for how I reacted before,” he said. “It’s not personal.”

“I get it,” Magnus said as he approached. “In a way, you had only just gotten Jace back.”

Alec glanced at him, visibly startled. “Yeah.”

Magnus leaned his arms on the banister. He stood hardly a foot away from Alec, close enough to feel his body heat radiating into the cool, early autumn night. “You know,” he said, “I never wanted the spellbond.” That made Alec look at him again; this time, he didn’t look away immediately. “But over the past few days, I… I can feel where it used to be. Sometimes, I even miss it. That bond existed for a little less than two weeks. You and Jace have been connected for years. I can’t begin to imagine how that must feel for you.”

“Will you help me find him?”

The question made Magnus turn a little so he could better look at Alec. There was something childlike in Alec’s voice as he asked that; it reminded Magnus of all the times Alec didn’t fight the spellbond, all the times he trusted Magnus more than he should have. But on the other hand, he could hear - and see - the adult who knew what he was doing. The combination made Magnus wary: it indicated that there was something going on inside Alec that Magnus didn’t understand, and that made Alec unpredictable.

Out loud, Magnus asked: “What do you need?”

“I can track Jace through our rune. I only need your magic for the pain.”

Oh, hell no. Not that. “The last time you did that, it almost killed you.”

“So you won’t help me?”

“Alexander--”

Magnus didn’t get to finish that sentence. Alec’s phone beeped, and he made a point of turning his attention away from Magnus and towards his phone screen.

“I need to get to the ops center,” he said. “The Clave finally responded.”

* * *

_ Monday, September 12 _

It was a good thing that Magnus decided to follow after Alec, and a better thing that he opted to stay in one of the dimly-lit hallways rather than step into the bright ops center. It meant that he could watch and listen to Maryse Lightwood’s introduction of Victor Aldertree and the new director’s speech, all without being seen.

Aldertree was bad news. The man’s reputation preceded him; a former field medic, it was said that he wanted to become the next Inquisitor. His name was passed between Downworlders because, in his dealings with them, he showed the sort of strong-armed attitude that would endear him to the Clave. Rumor also had it that he hadn’t always been like that; ambition was a likely explanation for that change of attitude.

Magnus was hardly surprised that Simon and he - the two Downworlder witnesses to the scene at Camille’s - as well as Luke Garroway, were rounded up in a small room and put under guard; just as he was unsurprised that Aldertree held their interviews last, after they’d already spent the better part of the night detained. All that was par for the course. The surprising part was how polite and soft-spoken Aldertree was, at least in his interview of Magnus; that was positively unnerving.

By the time Magnus was let go, it was around five in the morning and his exhaustion was bone-deep. He ignored the bustle around him as he went down the stairs, through the busy ops center, and straight for the door. Rather than his surroundings, Magnus’s attention was focused on his tension headache - which he tried to massage away even as he walked - and on just how much he wanted to return to the loft and draw himself a hot bath; breakfast, though important, could wait.

In fact Magnus was so exhausted and so distracted that he managed to walk right past Alec without even noticing. Alec had to call after him twice before Magnus stopped and turned around.

“You going home?” Alec asked.

“Where else would I be going?” Magnus replied. “My interview is over, and I’m exhausted. Besides,” he continued, failing to hold his irritation in check, “in my house, there’s steak and vodka. I’d rather be there.”

He turned around to leave.

“Wait,” Alec said, and Magnus paused. “You’re just… you’re not going to help?”

Alec sounded so lost, so young, but… Magnus was too tired and too irritable for his compassion to rule him; besides, that wasn’t what he wanted from Alec, why he was attracted to him. Some immortals learned to enjoy the unavoidable differences in experience and power that occurred when one dated mortals, but Magnus wasn’t one of those. Alec wasn’t one of Magnus’s Downworlder adoptees, and Magnus didn’t want to treat him like one.

He turned around to face Alec. “You really don’t get it, do you. I do want to find Jace; you ought to know just how much I want that. I understand what you’re going through, but that’s no excuse to treat me like--”

Alec cut him off, spoke over him. “What do you want from me?”

Oh, that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all. Magnus drew himself to his full height, for all the good that did him when faced with Alec. Then he swallowed; his mouth was dry. “At the moment? Nothing.”

Alec looked stricken. Before he could reply, though, the alarm began to blare, accompanied by flashing red lights. Alec’s gaze remained trained on Magnus; he didn’t even glance behind him at the unavoidable commotion.

Magnus steeled himself, straightened his shoulders, turned around, and - striding steadily, purposefully - left.

* * *

Alec stepping into the wards felt just like anyone else. Oh, Magnus knew it was him; he always knew who it was who stepped into his wards. But now he knew it was Alec the same way he would’ve known if it was anyone else. The intimacy of the Bond was gone and with it, the intensity.

This time, Magnus was relieved.

The elevator in this building was quick, but it wasn’t that quick. Magnus had time enough to deliberate on how he wanted to do this. Alec had been all over the place since Jace was taken, and Magnus had no idea which side of Alec he was going to meet. Some of those, Magnus wasn’t up to dealing with at the moment. His anger was burning lower than it had around sunrise, but it still burned. In the end he chose to not cut short his training, but to leave the door open - not wide, but just so. 

He was still angry, but he didn’t want to be angry.

When Alec first said his name, Magnus wasn’t even sure that he heard it; it seemed that Alec barely got the word out. Then Alec repeated Magnus’s name, more clearly, and continued: “I’m not good at apologies, but-- I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Well. That had potential. Nevertheless, apologies were not as simple as saying that one was sorry. Still focusing on the ball of raw magic between his hands, Magnus replied with a question: “For?”

“You were right,” Alec said. “I was taking things out on you. That was wrong of me. I-- I don’t really know how to deal with what’s happened. What’s happening. With Jace missing, it’s like the ground shifted and I can’t keep my balance, and--” 

As Alec spoke, Magnus found himself slowing down, magic reabsorbed. Alec sounded-- genuine; as if he’d given the matter serious thought, and each word had been weighed before being spoken.

“I didn’t mean to take it out on you,” Alec finished, quietly. “You deserve better. I’m sorry.”

Magnus reached for his hoodie before Alec was done speaking, before he’d even said,  _You deserve better._

Magnus turned around and faced Alec. He didn’t look terrible, but he did seem as if he was running on runic power; that always made Shadowhunters seem more taut, more vigilant. It was a look one learned to recognize after a while, and Magnus had had more than long enough.

“You’re forgiven,” Magnus said lightly. “And for the record,” he continued as he approached Alec, “you’re great at apologies.”

Alec blushed and this time, there was no magic behind it, twisting Alec from the inside. It was - Magnus thought - the most beautiful thing he’d seen in quite some time.

Up close, though, Magnus could see that Alec’s eyes were rimmed with red - though Magnus only got a brief look before Alec averted his gaze, looking down instead.

No, Alec had not been kind to himself.

“Alexander,” Magnus said quietly, and gently tilted Alec’s chin back up.

Alec let him do that, but he also turned his face aside, into the touch, and closed his eyes. Magnus went with the motion, cupping Alec’s face in his hand. The obvious strength of Alec’s body was misleading; to Magnus’s eyes and touch, he seemed fragile.

His parabatai was missing.

Magnus’s heart ached as he realized what he was going to have to do.

Alec didn’t open his eyes until Magnus let his face go.

“I’m going to have to change my mind on the matter of helping you track Jace, aren’t I.”

Alec’s lips silently formed a word. Magnus was pretty sure that it was  _Please._

Magnus sighed. “Then let’s get on with it.”

“Where…?”

It was a testament to Magnus’s mood that he wasn’t even tempted to so much as joke about taking it to the bedroom. Instead, he gestured at the couch.

Alec pulled off his shirt unhesitatingly and settled on the couch. Magnus stood behind the couch’s back, magic at his fingertips. He couldn’t resist the temptation to sneak in just a little bit of healing--

Alec dropped his stele.

“What happened?” Magnus asked, alarmed. “Did it start?” He was fairly sure that Alec hadn’t redrawn the rune yet.

“No,” Alec said even as he pulled himself back up and decisively reached for his shirt. “I don’t need to; he’s on land.”

“Where is he?”

“Clark Street station.”

“That’s just a couple blocks from here.”

“He’s with Valentine. I have to get back to the Institute…”

Oh, no, he did not. “Alec,” Magnus said, then repeated the name as he stepped forward to place his hands on Alec’s arms, stopping the other man. “What happens if you get back to the Institute?”

“Aldertree will send a team…” Alec closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. “He ordered Jace retrieved dead or alive.”

Yeah, that was about what Magnus thought. “So don’t go back there,” he suggested. Odds were that handing Jace to Aldertree would as good as sign his death warrant, or at the very least a lifetime imprisonment.

“I wasn’t even supposed to leave the Institute,” Alec said. “If Aldertree finds out--”

Magnus took an educated guess on where that sentence was going, and cut Alec off. “Were they still attempting to track him the usual way when you left?”

“Of course,” Alec replied automatically. Then horror dawned on his face. “He isn’t blocking the trace, or I wouldn’t be able to actually see where he is, even through our Bond.”

“So a team from the Institute must be already on their way.”

Alec pressed his palms together and brought them to his mouth. “Oh, Angels.”

Luckily, Magnus already had a plan. “We can get there faster. I can portal us to one of the alleyways. From there, we can close the distance on foot. But first,” Magnus continued, “I’m calling for backup.”

That was the tricky part: portalling Alec and himself to Clark Street Station was easy. Glamouring them wasn’t all that complicated, either. But Magnus had no illusions: the two of them were not going to suffice.

“Another warlock?” Alec asked dubiously.

There weren’t that many other warlocks that Magnus would trust in this situation, and none of them was easy to reach in that moment. Instead, Magnus shook his head. “Do you know what pilots are?” Alec probably didn’t; or if he did, it was by some other name.

It took Alec a second to come up with: “I assume you don’t mean Mundane aircraft pilots.”

“Not even remotely,” Magnus replied. “‘Piloting’ is a variant on the Sight. Pilots can find the ideal way to achieve some objective - they pilot through possibilities.”

He was set to wait until Alec got the implication, but he got there promptly. “You’re offering to bring in a Mundane?”

“No,” Magnus said. “I’m offering to bring in a pilot.” Anyone could be a pilot, Downworlders and Shadowhunters included. The pilots Magnus had access to were neither - but nevertheless, a well-trained pilot was not a Mundane as Alec understood the word.

“Fine,” Alec bit out.

Magnus reached for his phone, pulled up the right WhatsApp group and - after a split-second’s hesitation - opted to record a message rather than type it. “I need help on a rescue mission, going now.” He removed his finger from the screen and looked up at Alec. “It’s 5AM there, it may take a--”

The phone dinged. Magnus glanced down at it. The incoming message was brief:  _K. 5_

It was Uri.

A wave of relief washed through Magnus. He couldn’t have known who in the Lahav-Bnei Anat group would respond to his request; some of them, he knew, would’ve walked right out once they realized the details of what Magnus was asking. Uri, though - he would probably be game.

His aunt Meirav might flay Magnus alive later - to say nothing of what dear Shoshi might do - but first, Uri would help them retrieve Jace.

All this passed through Magnus’s mind in a split second. “Oh good,” he said, trying to mask the relief in his voice. “We got Uri. He’ll need a second to grab his gear, and then I’ll portal him here.”

“Wait,” Alec blurted out, “did you send that to an entire group of pilots?”

Technically not everyone in that group was a pilot, but all of them were helpful in a pinch. “Something like that.”

The phone dinged again. This time, the message was a single thumb-up emoji. Magnus put the phone away, and summoned a portal.

Uri was dressed in a mussed-up plain white T-shirt and a pair of boxers, indicating he just got out of bed. His hair was only barely regulation. He was carrying a go bag in his left hand and a pair of sneakers in his right.

His eyes flicked over the room. “Ma, avarta dira?” he asked in Hebrew - oh right, no one in the Bloodlines knew that Magnus had moved the loft - then realized there was another person in the room and just who, or rather, _what_ that person was. “What’s the Shadowhunter doing here?” Uri demanded with pretty much the level of suspicious hostility that Magnus had expected.

“We’re rescuing his parabatai, from Valentine,” Magnus said briefly. He was betting on the word _parabatai_ appealing to Uri’s sentimentality and curiosity, and on Valentine’s name driving home just how acute the threat was.

Uri’s pupils dilated. That snap when he closed his mouth was probably deliberate. Magnus had a very worrying split second, but then Uri dumped the contents of his go bag on the couch and proceeded to get dressed and gear up. He was in.

Still, he said: “Aunty will have words.”

“But you’re in,” Magnus replied.

Uri gave him a look that could peel the paint off walls. 

Magnus raised his hands in reply, and got on with the program. “Valentine and Jace are a few blocks from here. An Institute team is en route to intercept them. They won’t care if Jace is dead or alive.”

“What’d he do?” Uri asked.

His tone was conversational, but nevertheless Alec snapped: “He didn’t do anything.” 

It was better if Magnus got the relevant information out before Uri started needling Alec purposefully, which - judging from the way he eyed Alec - he was about to do. “He’s Valentine’s son.”

Uri’s hands stilled. It took his him four whole seconds before he asked: “Do I want to know what sort of a parent fucking _Valentine_ is?”

“No,” Magnus said immediately. He didn’t want to think about those implications, which meant Alec probably needed to not think of them right then and there. 

Uri nodded, and laced up his shoes with a few quick tugs. “Let’s go.”


	3. Six of Cups (Jace)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pleasure. Issues relating to childhood; yearning, nostalgia, reunions, protection. Reversed: unwelcome intrusion from the past, unresolved childhood issues, trauma.

_ Saturday, September 10 _

Eventually they fell asleep curled up together, face to face on Jace’s bed. It’d been a long time - years - since the last time they’d slept in the same bed; it certainly hadn’t happened since they became parabatai. Jace knew why that was; he’d known all along - known, and said nothing. Alec had chosen to be his parabatai, and Jace was going to respect that choice - or that was what he’d told himself: he wasn’t sure that there was more to that decision than a selfish wish to not lose Alec.

That didn’t matter anymore, though. Jace had taken the plunge on that other path, and Alec had rejected it. That specter was banished. It was safe, now, to go back to falling asleep in a tangle of limbs, under one blanket.

Jace hadn’t known how much he’d missed that - until, that is, he got it back. But even that relief couldn’t have him fail to notice that Alec was holding back on something. Jace could feel it, each and every time that Alec almost said something then chose not to. It was hard to feel afraid with the Bond pulsing in the back of Jace’s mind, with Alec so close Jace could watch his pulse in his neck and know it was the same rhythm as his own heart. But Jace knew that fear would eventually catch up to him - if Alec kept not talking about whatever it was that he so obviously needed to talk about. So, eventually, Jace asked: “What aren’t you telling me?”

He could see and feel Alec hesitating before eventually he replied: “What if I said there’s nothing you can do about it?”

“I’d ask why does that matter,” Jace replied promptly. That was a stupid question of Alec to ask.

Or possibly it was a stupid assumption for Jace to make, because Alec replied: “I think I hurt you enough.”

Jace’s first, instinctive response was that Alec _couldn’t_ hurt him. Then the past ten days rushed past him, evidence that Alec _could_ , that Alec _had_. Jace knew that, knew that it had happened, and yet he was struggling with the idea.

Eventually, Jace said: “I don’t get to say that I know what I’m doing, do I. Not this time,” he added ruefully. He _didn’t_ know what he was doing. He could feel Alec through the Bond again, but he couldn’t tell what Alec was thinking, or why, or how he made the choices that he did. It would be a while before their Bond recovered to that degree.

A longer while, if Alec kept making choices like this one.

Alec sighed, and bent his neck so his forehead touched Jace’s shoulder. Jace closed his eyes. He wouldn’t push; he couldn’t.

“I guess I don’t get to say that, either,” Alec said after a moment. “I’ll tell you,” he added. “Just… give me a few hours.”

Jace shifted, tucked Alec’s head under his chin. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

* * *

Alec was wrong: the thing that Alec hesitated to tell him didn’t _hurt_ Jace. It made him angry.

Very, very angry.

“I’m going to _kill_ him--”

“Jace, it’s _fine_ ,” Alec said, still blocking Jace’s access to the door - and Jace didn’t have it in him to make this a physical fight; the thought alone made him queasy.

“No, it’s _not_ fine, Alec. Nothing about this is _fine_. You just said--” _that he owns you_ , but Jace couldn’t make himself say those words.

“The contract’s annulled, okay?”

Jace stared at him. _The contract’s annulled. Give me a few hours_. The two pieces of the puzzle clicked together. “That’s what you were doing earlier, wasn’t it.”

“Yeah,” Alec said.

Jace’s anger hadn’t abated. “So he could’ve done this all along, and--”

“No, he couldn’t have,” Alec cut him off. “Magical contracts can’t be dissolved just by going ‘Oops, I changed my mind’.”

“So, what changed?” Jace demanded.

“Yesterday--” Alec stopped.

Jace knew why Alec stopped: Jace’s pulse picked up at that one word, and everything that was packed in it. _Yesterday_ was the worst day of Jace’s life, far worse than even the day he’d found-- _thought_ he’d found his father’s eviscerated corpse.

That thought hurt too much, though.

Jace wrenched himself forcefully from the past; Alec was talking again. “Magnus didn’t know-- how bad things were between us. That I tracked you through our Bond. He wouldn’t have said _that_ at all if he knew.”

The words almost didn’t make sense. It was an effort to keep them strung together, let alone to extract meaning from them. Jace had to take a deep breath to be able to say: “And that’s enough to annul the contract.”

He hated how his voice shook.

“If both parties agree,” Alec replied.

“Wait, he had to--”

Alec just looked at him.

Jace opted to not chase that down. “And yesterday made... all _that_ come up,” he said instead.

Whatever Alec said in response to that, his words didn’t register. Only his emotions did: warm, protective, reaching out. They absorbed into the surface of Jace’s mind like salve into broken skin.

Jace couldn’t control his response; he couldn’t control anything, in that moment.

Eventually, he managed to ask: “And now what?”

“Nothing,” Alec replied. “Things go back to what they were before.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Jace demanded. “Just pretending this never happened?”

In response, Alec opened up to the Bond even more. At least he wasn’t actively projecting; it meant Jace could force himself to make out the words, to not just drown in the sense of  _Alec._

It still felt as if Alec’s words were coming from a great distance. “I knew better, okay? I did. I just…” Alec stopped, hesitated. His emotions were a mess to mirror Jace’s own. “Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. But I did know Magnus couldn’t be serious, and I said yes anyway. This is on me too.”

That, as far as Jace was concerned, was bullshit. But he also knew when he was beat: Alec was determined to take up some of the responsibility for what had happened, and Jace couldn’t talk him out of it.

Disagreeing with Alec still hurt too much.

Eventually, he asked: “Who else knows about this?”

“Just you. I told Hodge that Magnus defended Izzy pro bono.”

“And he believed you?” Jace asked incredulously.

Alec shrugged. “Magnus likes Izzy.”

Magnus may like Izzy, but if Alec didn’t see that it was just as obvious that Magnus was into him, then… Well. Jace couldn’t make himself have that talk with his parabatai.

He’d just need to hope that it didn’t get Alec hurt.

* * *

It felt as if he had cut off his own hand. No: it felt as if he’d cut off both his arms, at the shoulder. Shuttering the Bond, deliberately keeping Alec in the dark - that was the hardest thing Jace had ever done, hard enough that it made Jace nauseous, made perspiration bead on his forehead.

He had to. He had to protect Alec. Jace was his father’s son: he’d cut off Hodge’s hand and he’d do worse, much worse. Alec wouldn’t. Alec was bright and light and _good_ , and it was Jace’s responsibility to protect him-- from Jace’s own darkness, first of all.

Shuttering off the Bond probably hurt Alec, too, but less than the other option. Jace kept reminding himself of that.

Eventually, though, he picked up Alec’s call. Alec called again and again and again, and eventually, Jace wasn’t strong enough and picked it up.

“Where the hell are you?” Alec demanded, his anger evident.

“Going after Valentine,” Jace replied. His voice was cool; that was good.

“You’re acting crazy,” Alec said, and it was an accusation. “Whatever Valentine’s telling you, it’s not true.”

“That’s just it, Alec,” Jace said; so much for his cool, “it _is_ true. He’s my father. He taught me how to fight, how not to be weak--”

Alec cut him off. “You can’t let him control you like that. This isn’t you.”

“It _is_ me,” Jace snapped right back. “It’s always been me. He raised me to be a killer, and I’m--”

Alec just cut him off again, but what he said was: “Fine.”

That was unexpected. It was the point he was trying to make Alec see but somehow, Jace hadn’t quite expected Alec to accept it. The sense of having been betrayed was… misplaced: wasn’t this what Jace wanted?

Into the silence that followed, Alec said: “You’re Valentine’s son, but that’s not all you are. You’re also my parabatai. And where you go, I will go.”

Alec’s voice cracked on those last three words, and with it Jace’s resolve. He couldn’t do it; he couldn’t drag Alec down with him. Jace was Valentine’s son, by both blood and upbringing. But Alec--

A warm hand on his shoulder startled him. Luke Garroway took the phone from his hand before he dropped it.

“We got him,” Luke said into the phone; told Alec. “We got them both. I don’t know what you said, kid, but it was the right thing to say. Now stay put, all right? Gretel’s coming to fetch you, and I won’t be letting go of your parabatai until you get here. Okay?”

Whatever Alec said in response to that was brief. Luke terminated the call.

He turned his head to look at Jace. For a moment, it looked as if he wanted to-- Jace wasn’t sure: call him _kid_ also, hug him, something else of that sort. But Luke was smarter than that.

Jace would’ve broken his arm, had Luke tried to hold him. He knew that.

He still felt like he needed it.

* * *

_ Sunday, September 11 _

It didn’t occur to him that he still had the ring in his pocket until he was getting ready for bed. He was emptying his pockets on autopilot when he opened his hand, and the ring was there.

He stared at the ring for a-- while. He wasn’t sure how long. Then he shook himself out of it - physically shook himself - and made himself put the ring away. He succeeded only partially: he put it on the bedside cabinet, next to his stele.

For several hours he tried to fall asleep or, failing that, to rest. He did manage to lose some time, though he was pretty sure that it wasn’t to sleep.

In the end, he put the ring back on.

His father was going to use the Cup; that they knew. That was also the extent of everything they knew about his plans. In other words, they had nothing. Jocelyn might know more, but Jocelyn hadn’t been in touch with the man for years - decades - and also, who knew how long it would take the warlock to wake her up? No: it would be smarter of Jace to put the ring on.

His father’s image materialized immediately. “Ah, Jonathan,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

He didn’t _sound_ surprised, though, so Jace ignored the prattle. “And what if I said I changed my mind?”

“Changed your mind about what?” his father asked lightly.

“Joining you.” Jace even managed to say the words without the hint of a tremor in his voice or on his face. For a moment, he was proud of himself.

Then it turned out that his father still didn’t buy it. “First you want to kill me, then you want to join me? Seems a bit convenient, don’t you think?”

Jace shrugged, and lied. “It was worth a shot.”

His father tsked. A shiver ran down Jace’s spine; he knew what that sounded preceded. “Don’t get me wrong. You’ll join me, I’m sure of it. In fact, you will join me today.”

“And what’s going to happen today that will change my mind?”

“Oh, Jonathan, what did I teach you? Always strike where your opponent is weakest. And _your_ weakness is your friends.” His father smiled. “See you at the Upper East Side!” Then he slid off his ring, and Jace was left alone with the knowledge:

Their father was going after Clary.

* * *

They were too late: when they rushed into Camille’s apartment, it was to find Izzy, Simon and - of _all_ people - Magnus, held at swordpoint. Clary alone stood free, her arms occupied with a heavy volume; that had to be the Book of the White. Over to the side of the room, an open portal glowed.

There were four or five of his father’s men for each one of them; this wasn’t a fight they could win, not without casualties.

Jace charged right in regardless, with a cry of: “Stop!”

One of the new Shadowhunters shifted his sword so the blade touched Izzy’s throat.

Jace stopped in his tracks, only a few feet away from his father.

“Ah, Jonathan,” Valentine said. He was looking at Jace intently. “Finally ready to kill your own father?”

Was he? Jace wasn’t sure. There were only two things about his father of which Jace was sure. The first was that the man was his father; and the second was, “You abandoned me!”

“I was protecting you,” his father corrected. “Fight me, and watch your friends die, You’re strong, but they make you weak.”

“Let us go,” Clary said. She sounded resigned. “You can have the Book; we won’t be able to stop you without it.”

“Ah, Clarissa.” Their father turned around to face her, demonstrably showing Jace and Alec his back. The gesture stung. “ _So_ like your mother; always willing to do anything for those you love. I’m touched, but-- the Book was never part of my plan. I want you to wake up your mother. You’ll both join me,” he continued, light in face of Clary’s shocked expression. “It’s fated.” Then he turned around and smiled at Jace. “Ready?”

Jace’s stomach dropped as he realized what was happening, what his father’s plan was: the only way for everyone of their party to leave whole and together was if Jace wasn’t leaving with them.

“Jace,” Alec said tightly. “Don’t.”

Jace could feel the tangle of Alec’s emotions in the back of his head. Alec was worried - for all of them, but most of all for Jace. It was touching, but-- Jace’s gaze flicked across the room, taking the scene in one last time. He still came to the same conclusion.

There was only one option.

Jace lowered his sword part-way, ready to lift it again if he was wrong. “If I come with you,” he asked, “promise you won’t hurt them?”

His father said, “You have my word.”

Jace lowered his sword the rest of the way.

His father began walking towards him, slowly, giving Jace plenty of time to change his mind.

He didn’t.

“What are you doing?” Clary demanded. She continued, picking up the pace with every word: “Jace, this is insane. Valentine’s wrong, you’re not like him--”

That hurt more than anything their father could’ve said. Jace cut her off. “You don’t know that, Clary.”

Gently, his father took Jace’s arm, then ordered his men: “Let them go.”

As soon as they did, Alec released the arrow he had notched that entire time; it sang as it passed by Jace’s ear. Simultaneously, Izzy lashed out, catching one of the new Shadowhunters with an elbow to his jaw, then unfurling her whip.

That was as far as they got before one of the new Shadowhunters grabbed Simon, the most vulnerable of their number.

Alec and Izzy both stopped in their tracks.

Valentine kept walking, and kept Jace with him.

Only two things in the world were real: his father’s hand on his arm, and his parabatai. Even Clary seemed different, part of a reality that Jace no longer belonged in, had perhaps never belonged in to begin with - he just hadn’t known.

A reality that he was now leaving.

Jace locked eyes with Alec. “Alec…”

“Jace…”

Angel, but this hurt. “Watch out for Clary.”

And then he was pulled through the portal, and the world lurched around him. He’d used portals before and it’d never been this dizzying, this disorienting. Jace had no idea what was wrong, but something _was;_ Jace doubled over with the pain of it.

His father’s hand was gentle on his back. “Easy, Jonathan. It’s for the best. You’ll get used to it.”

“Get used to _what?_ ” Jace demanded - doubled over still - but then he knew. It was a familiar pain; Jace had experienced a milder form of it for most of the past few weeks.

He couldn’t feel Alec.

At all.

_ It’s for the best. _

Slowly, Jace straightened his back and took in his surroundings. He was in the belly of a ship; the bulkheads were metal, and the air _smelled_ like metal - like metal and salt. The other Shadowhunters who’d come through the portal with them were gone; so was the warlock who’d had to have been there, for there to have been a portal. Only Jace and his father remained.

“There you go,” his father said. He lifted his hand from Jace’s shoulder to touch his face, still atypically gentle. “You are magnificent,” he told Jace. “I knew you would be; I did raise you. And you will become even more magnificent.” He paused, then asked: “You know that, don’t you?”

Jace did know. He knew the way of his father, he knew what was in store for him no matter what he did - and what he could avoid by being good enough or, at the very least, striving to be. Pain was necessary - Jace couldn’t avoid it completely. But some of it, some of it he could avoid. There was only one correct answer.

“Yes, I do.”

* * *

The deck was littered with dead bodies. Most, but not all of them were men. Some seemed to be young, as young as Jace was; others were older, some appearing even older than his father was. All of them had wanted to be Shadowhunters, all of them had understood the risk - and all of them had failed the test that was drinking from the Mortal Cup.

The deck was littered with dead bodies, and Jace walked among them. He knelt by one. It was a woman, a girl; she couldn’t be older than 16. She was resting with her back against the steel cables, her eyes closed and her expression peaceful. Jace imagined that in the dark, she could appear to be only asleep. In the dark, and to someone else’s eye: he’d seen too many dead bodies to be fooled.

“Jace!” cried a voice that didn’t belong.

Jace turned his head. “Clary?”

And there was indeed Clary, running towards him. Jace stood up and went to her. Moving as silently as he could: one of the survivors, a new Shadowhunter, was maybe ten yards from them. “How’d you get in?” he asked in a whisper.

“I portalled in,” she said, matching his tone. More urgently, she continued: “Let’s go, we don’t have much time.”

“I can’t.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Look, we got to get you out of here--"

“I’m not leaving without you.”

A blade sang through the air. Jace turned: they’d been noticed by the sentry. He’d come running at them and had just drawn his blade. Jace broke his arm and grabbed the sword from his hand.

“My dear Clarissa,” said a voice that _did_ belong, their father’s voice. He was marching towards the two of them, flanked by two new Shadowhunters. “You are tenacious, aren’t you.”

Jace got between them, sword raised. _Fuck, fuck, **fuck**._ “Stay back,” he said out loud.

Their father didn’t reply in words; instead, he raised his sword.

This wasn’t a spar; it was a fight. _Spars_ could go on for a while; true fights were usually short. Jace had no expectation of winning; he was only trying to buy Clary some time, praying that she’d realize the odds and run away, back to the portal she’d come through, back to safety.

His sword went right through his father’s abdomen.

Jace pulled the sword out, and the body hit the floor, one more dead body among the hundred-odd.

Jace stood over his father’s body, mind numb. He’d killed him…? That couldn’t be. This had not been a fight Jace could’ve won, even if he’d gone into it with the willingness to kill. He was only buying Clary time.

_ Clary _ .

Jace spun around, sword held at the ready. The redhead was still there.

“Who are you?” Jace demanded.

“What do you mean, who am I? Jace…” She stepped towards him.

Jace lifted his sword slightly in a warning. “That wasn’t my father,” he said. “It wasn’t Valentine. And you aren’t Clary. So I’m going to ask you again: who are you?”

“Guess.”

The facial expression, the tilt of the chin, the specific way the word was said - those clinched it. Before, Jace only suspected. Now he knew.

He dropped the sword.

His father smiled and redrew a rune where Clary didn’t have one drawn. Clary’s form shimmered and disappeared, Jace’s father taking his own form again.

Jace didn’t say a word, didn’t move. He didn’t so much as twitch even when his father stepped forward, picked the sword that Jace had dropped, and put the tip of it against Jace’s throat.

They stood like that for a long moment.

His father smiled. It was an expression Jace well remembered: there was no joy in it, only a cold knowing. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he said.

Jace remained silent.

“You’d fight and kill, you’d live, for them; but not for your own father.”

Jace couldn’t control the tremors that ran through his body. He had no idea whether or not they showed; he did know that it didn’t matter - his father would do what he’d do, and there was nothing Jace could do to change the outcome.

He loved his father. He wanted his father to be proud of him. He couldn’t change those things, even though he knew the man to be a monster. Jace knew what that made him. It was part of the reason he didn’t even try to fight what was coming: not just because he couldn’t change it, but because he deserved it.

He didn’t close his eyes. He saw the backhand coming. Brutal as it was - and it was - it didn’t knock him off his feet. It just stunned him long enough that he didn’t fight on instinct when two pairs of hands grabbed his arms from behind.

His father didn’t say a word, didn’t nod, didn’t do anything. He must have expected Jace to fail and given the order beforehand. The two new Shadowhunters marched off, taking Jace with them.

His father didn’t twitch when they went right past him.

Jace couldn’t help it: he turned his head around to keep his father in this sight, seeking out a reaction, any reaction.

He found none.

* * *

_ Monday, September 12 _

Jace had no idea how much time had passed before his father came to see him. In the bowels of the ship, he had no way to track time. He’d tried counting the buckets of water splashed onto him, but he’d lost the count. His limbs were all manacled, and the metal was sturdy and well-fitted: he wasn’t getting out of his bonds unless someone with a key _let_ him out.

Eventually, his father came. But Jace had no idea how much time had passed - or what was about to happen.

His father studied him for a moment, expression opaque, then jammed a syringe in Jace’s neck and depressed it.

Jace’s head spun. The pain that his body was in fell away, and the words “I’d kill you again” spilled from his lips. These words were true; Jace would’ve never said them out loud if he had any control left.

His father surprised him by smiling, then by the lack of anger in his voice as he said, “I know.”

“Then why test me?”

“It never hurts to be sure.” He nodded at someone that Jace couldn’t see.

A moment later, the manacles around Jace’s wrists clicked open and Jace crashed down on the metal floor, wet from who knew how many buckets of water, and slick with Jace’s blood. He managed to not hit his head, but that was about it. Someone moved his legs so as to open those manacles as well. Jace tried to kick by instinct, but his body wouldn’t obey him.

His father knelt by his side. He pushed Jace over so that he lay on his back, then redrew the strongest of Jace’s healing runes. “Now,” he said shortly as he pushed himself up again, “do you want to know why I wanted to make absolutely _sure_ that you’re capable of murdering your own father?”

* * *

He got a hot shower and a change of clothes. He didn’t get his stele back. The former surprised him; the latter… Jace no longer knew.

Then he stepped into the galley and got hit with the scents of boiling spaghetti, red sauce and freshly-grated Pecorino. It was a worse hit than whatever had been in that syringe. When his father spooned some of the sauce and held it to Jace’s lips, he tasted it on instinct, then said: “Needs more Pecorino.”

His father nodded, turned back to the stove and reached for the bowl that held the grated cheese. “Do you remember your fifth birthday? I made you spaghetti, your absolute favorite.”

Yes, Jace remembered. The memory was bright and vivid - no other way, with the scents that were in the air. And yet-- “You really think I want to have a meal with you?”

“I know that head of yours is full of questions,” his father said, “so go ahead, don’t be shy.”

There were a thousand questions Jace could ask, starting with, _Why did you abandon me? Why did you make me think I was an orphan? Why did you--_ But all those questions, Jace could figure out the answers to. Michael Wayland had no enemies in Idris; and when Valentine Morgenstern’s enemies got close, Michael Wayland had to disappear. Then there was, _Why did you want to make sure I’d kill you?_ , but Jace wasn’t going to ask that either: he knew his father would answer that when _he_ wanted to.

There was one question, though, that Jace didn’t already know the answer to and that his father would, maybe, answer. “You had me think I had no mother.”

“What would you have me say? That she wanted to kill you? I was protecting you from her, too.”

“Why would she want to kill me?”

“Because you’re different. You’re special.” His father softened his voice. “Look, I know that you’ve always felt more powerful than everyone else around you. That’s because you are. I made sure of it.”

“I don’t understand.”

His father pulled back his sleeve, redrew a rune that Jace had only faint, theoretical memory of, then grabbed Jace’s hand and closed it around said rune.

The world was yanked from around him and replaced by a different world: one in which Jace was standing over a sleeping redheaded, pregnant woman with a syringe in his hand, then slowly sliding the needle into her rising belly--

The galley materialized again.

Jace stared at his father, who was watching him eagerly.

“What did you _do_ to me?” Jace demanded. The redheaded woman was Jocelyn; the hands that held the syringe were his father’s; and the baby in the womb was him.

“I made you stronger, faster,” his father said. “More lethal than any other Shadowhunter. The perfect weapon - the ideal wedding of good and evil. A Shadowhunter with pure demon blood.”

Jace didn’t think; he grabbed a knife out of the butcher’s block right next to him. His father sidestepped easily, turned Jace’s arm so that the knife hit the bulkhead instead. He didn’t say anything; he just smiled triumphantly.

_ I wanted to make absolutely sure that you’re capable of murdering your own father. _

_ Pure demon blood. _

Jace felt sick. The room was spinning, black was gathering at the edges of his vision, and it wasn’t because he hadn’t eaten in who knew how long.

The smile vanished from his father’s face. Gently, and moving very slowly, he closed the distance between them and put his arms around Jace.

Jace swallowed convulsively. For a second, his eyes closed of their own accord. He wanted - oh, Angel, he _wanted_ , he yearned - but instead, he forced his eyes open and, gritting his teeth, pushed his father away.

His father didn’t seem angry. He just seemed sad. “You’re stronger and more vicious than they are. You know it’s true, Jonathan, you know every word I just told you is the truth. So tell me: who are you going to trust to stop you when it’s time? Clarissa? Alec?”

Panic seized Jace. Alec. Oh, Angel, _Alec_ \--

“I told you,” his father said softly. “It’s for the best.”

The magic woven about the ship, which rendered the Bond mute and blind--

Jace scrunched his eyes shut, but the tears escaped through anyhow.

This time, he didn’t push his father away.

* * *

Jace listened to what his father was saying with only half an ear. He should’ve been listening, he knew that, but he _couldn’t_. All of his attention was turned inside. He wanted to shutter the Bond, _needed_ to, for Alec’s safety; Alec didn’t need Jace’s violence leaking into his mind and polluting him. Alec was _good._ Jace wasn’t, though, and that was - in all likelihood - why he couldn’t shutter and silence the Bond.

Jace’s selfish rumination was cut short by a scream - a scream that came from inside the pizzeria turned vampire den. Jace bolted forward and through the boarded-up door without thought.

The front of the restaurant was empty and abandoned, but the back - the back was the sort of a horror show that Jace had only heard about, before: a half-dozen vampires were tearing into as many Mundanes.

Jace averaged three seconds per vampire.

Chasing away the Mundanes was easy: they were dazed and confused from the bite, still, but Jace knew he emanated violence - and the bite made the Mundanes passive and obedient, besides.

There were more vampires present, though: he could feel them. Vampires were clannish; Jace needed the leader, he needed-- “Which one of you is Maria?” he demanded.

“Who’s asking?” said a soft woman’s voice. The woman who stepped out of the shadows appeared young and could’ve been pretty, if she didn’t have blood all over her face and front. The impression was particularly shocking because she was in a small, white lace dress.

As Jace watched, more and more vampires stepped out from the shadows.

Jace didn’t wait for all of them to show themselves: he ran.

Somehow, he managed to get through the door first and even bolt it behind him. Not that even a solid wooden door was going to help him much, with this many pissed-off vampires on the other side of it.

He needed a plan, he needed--

His eyes fell on a shovel.

There was something within Jace that was keen and precise, like a compass needle that always pointed in the right direction. And Jace’s true north was dead opponents; he’d known that about himself since his first real battle. It was a scary thing, that metaphorical needle; it kept Jace alive, it kept his party-members alive, but Jace had never given in to it completely.

This time, he did.

Ten seconds later, the only vampire left was Maria, and Jace did not have so much as a scratch on him.

“Pretty strong, even for a Shadowhunter,” she remarked - and lunged.

Jace’s back hit the pavement in a shower of broken glass.

Maria was on her feet before he was, but she didn’t move to attack. Instead, she smiled at him with her blooded mouth as he rose up, raised her hands, and said: “I surrender to the authority of the Clave.”

Fuck. He couldn’t kill her, once she uttered that phrase. But he couldn’t turn her in either - he couldn’t go back. And if he couldn’t kill her or turn her in he’d have to let her go - and if he did _that_ , she’d go right back to rebuilding her predatory coven.

Jace’s hand shook.

Maria was still smiling. “You’re weak,” she said in a vampire’s purr. “I can smell it.”

His father’s voice slid into the moment. “This thing in front of you,” he said, “was once Reggie the pizza guy’s sweet and loving wife.”

Maria spun around. “You leave my husband out of this!”

“You mean the man you murdered?” his father asked pleasantly. “You mean the man you devoured?”

Maria lunged.

Jace threw the improvised stake he was still holding.

Maria’s body disintegrated into a cloud of demonic blood, then that was gone as well.

Jace stared wide-eyed at his father. Then, without warning, Valentine collapsed, blood blossoming on his chest. Before Jace could move, though, someone or something collided into him from the side and a crossbow sang.

When Jace picked himself up, Alec was standing where Jace had been, an arrow in his side. Even as Jace watched, Alec tore the arrow out and redrew his strongest healing rune.

Healing rune. His father.

Voices were yelling, but Jace tuned them out. He was redrawing every healing rune he could find on his father’s body - Valentine’s runes weren’t where Michael Wayland’s had been, and Jace needed to search for them. He’d just found the blood replenishing rune when he was hauled to his feet.

That was Alec, who - inexplicably - bent down to pick up Jace’s father, then said: “Think of the ship” - and pushed all three of them through the portal.


	4. Ace of Cups (Alec)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root of the Power of Water. New beginnings and opportunities, improved health. Reversed: bad news, misguided intuition, emotional unrest and illness.

_Sunday, September 11_

The better part of the Institute’s muster had spent the day looking for Valentine’s ship. They didn’t find it, but they did bring back a wealth of data on every dock in the city - and somewhere in it, Alec was convinced, _somewhere_ in this haystack, there had to be the needle.

There was something in the data. There had to be. Alec just needed to find it.

An unexpected voice hit Alec like a physical jolt, redirecting his attention.

“The Clave being unhelpful - who’s shocked? Show of hands.”

Magnus’s voice. Of course: warlock tracking was better and more powerful than Shadowhunter tracking, and there were _literally_ only a small handful of warlocks in the world more powerful than Magnus. For a split-second, Alec almost felt relieved: Lydia may have cancelled the foot search, but she’d sent for Magnus.

Alec left the station he was working at and joined Lydia, Isabelle, and Magnus as they gathered around one of the tactical tables. “I’m worried; I can’t sense Jace through our parabatai bond,” he said. He’d said that already, had said it more times than he cared to count, but he couldn’t _not_ say it again. _I can’t sense Jace._ The absence was like a wall: in the way of everything else. Alec kept running into it and having to pick himself up, like a bird flying into a too-clear window.

“We’ll find him, Alexander,” Magnus said. His voice pulled Alec out of his thoughts and back to the busy ops center.

“Hodge said Valentine was on a ship,” Izzy said. “Maybe they’re still over water.”

Alec didn’t really pay attention to the conversation that ensued between his sister and Lydia, or what they were doing. Instead, his eyes were on Magnus and on the magic that danced and glittered between his hand and Jace’s hoodie.

“Anything?” Alec asked.

Magnus shook his head. “Sorry.”

No. That wasn’t right. Magnus wasn’t supposed to say that. Magnus could track Jace; he had to. There was no way that--

The words exploded out of Alec. “There’s got to be something!”

Magnus looked at him. Alec couldn’t read the expression on his face. “I don’t see him,” he said.

No. That wasn’t right. There had to be something. The _had_ to be, and if Magnus couldn’t find it, or if he hadn’t found it _yet_ \- if anything was to be found then Magnus had to be able to find it, he _had to be_ \- then Alec would need to find it. He cast his voice into the register he remembered both his parents using, on the darker nights: “All right, listen up,” he called out. “I want 24/7 monitoring of the Hudson and the East River. If you see anything unusual, you come to me first.”

“I’ve got this, Alec.”

It was a moment before Alec placed the voice that cut through his. Lydia. This was Lydia’s voice. It was Lydia telling him--

Alec turned to face her. He knew his anger showed in the way he moved; he just didn’t care. Oh, she _had this?_ “Then why haven’t you found Jace yet?”

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I’m still the head of this Institute.”

Funny; he really had forgotten, for a moment. Not that it mattered. “And my brother is still missing,” he spat out.

Isabelle popped up by his shoulder. “Why don’t you just take a break,” she suggested.

The quiet way she pitched her voice irked Alec for some reason, so he pitched his own louder - louder than was necessary - as he replied: “Not now, Izzy.”

“Isabelle’s right,” Lydia said. She lifted her chin as Alec turned to look at her. “And it’s not a request; you’re dismissed.”

Oh, was he now? “Fine,” Alec spat out, and turned on his heel.

He didn’t get far: someone touched his elbow, attempted to get a hold on it, on him. Alec didn’t quite parse Magnus’s soft “Hey” before he’d already pulled his arm away and snapped, “Back off!”

Magnus’s frozen expression was a shock, but Alec shoved the guilt away. He was in no mood to be held or held on to by anyone, and if he let himself register that it was _Magnus_ he’d just turned down-- that brought up too much of the past couple of weeks.

Too much. It was all too much. He was standing in the middle of the Institute and he may as well be out in some alley, it may as well be a hundred demons staring him down and not fellow Shadowhunters and Magnus. His mouth was dry as a desert, his hands sweaty, his heart was hammering-- his heart was hammering and he couldn’t feel Jace’s--

“Everybody, just--” the words fell off Alec’s tongue without his volition, “--back off!”

He fled.

* * *

He wound up on the roof. He always went there when he needed to get away. From the rooftop Alec had a choice of long-range targets to practice on, so even when he didn’t bring his bow and quiver with him, that was where he’d go.

He didn’t bring his bow; his hands were shaking. He was nearly hyperventilating, too; he needed to inhale less and exhale more.

This was bad. He was a mess. He had to get a grip. But even as the thought occurred to him, Alec railed against it: his _parabatai_ was missing. If anyone was ever entitled to be a mess, then in this moment, Alec was; were anyone to argue to the contrary, Alec would’ve thrown it in their face, told them that they didn’t know what it was _like_ to have half their soul be ripped away in less time than it took to blink; didn’t know what it was like to have their heart stop beating yet still keep going, because it was their parabatai’s heart that did and _their_ heart and mind didn’t care for the difference.

It wasn’t fair that Alec should have to forcibly calm the heart he had left. But he was a Shadowhunter and a Lightwood, and he knew that like the Law, life was unfair. Bit by bit, he slowed his breath. By the time the door creaked open, his hands were dry. He’d even managed to uncurl his fists.

Alec glanced behind his shoulder, and saw Magnus.

Guilt came crashing down on him. If there was anyone who didn’t deserve Alec’s temper, it was Magnus, who’d never done anything but help the best he could, who was - and the thought gave even the childish part of Alec a pause - perhaps the only kind person that he knew.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted, before,” Alec said, slowly. Finding words - or at least, words that didn’t sting - was proving difficult. “It’s not personal.” It was a lousy apology, but it was the best Alec could do. He had no idea how to explain the way he’d felt earlier, the sheer _terror_ and overwhelming need to get out, to be anywhere but where he was.

“I get it,” Magnus said as he drew closer. “In a way, you had only just gotten Jace back.”

Alec glanced at him, startled, then immediately looked away. _That_ was the thing, the other guilt that Alec kept running away from lest it swallow him whole: that he’d just gotten Jace back, that _Jace_ had just gotten him back. “Yeah,” Alec said, blankly, because _something_ needed to be said in response to that.

Magnus leaned his arms on the banister, close enough to feel his body heat radiating across the cool night air. It wasn’t just the nearness. Unlike Alec, Magnus wasn’t dressed for the chill.

“You know, I never wanted the spellbond.”

That made Alec turn his head again. This time he met Magnus’s eyes, and found that he couldn’t look away.

“But over the past few days,” Magnus continued, “I… I feel where it used to be. Sometimes, I even miss it. That bond existed for a little less than two weeks. You and Jace have been connected for _years_. I can’t begin to imagine how that must feel for you.”

That wasn’t what Alec expected, when Magnus said _I never wanted the spellbond._ He expected-- a reprimand, maybe; some sort of a complaint about how much trouble Alec was. He should’ve known better: this was _Magnus._ Hope blossomed in Alec’s chest, wild and desperate. “Will you help me find him?” Just because even Magnus couldn’t locate Jace didn’t mean that Jace couldn’t be located: it only meant that the stakes were higher. But Alec was a Lightwood, and he’d pay the price in full.

Magnus turned away from the night and towards Alec. His expression was unreadable. “What do you need?” he asked.

“I can track Jace through our rune,” Alec said. “I only need your magic for the pain.”

Magnus’s expression froze. It made no sense for the emotion it froze _on_ to be anger, and yet, that was the only word that came to Alec’s mind.

“The last time you did that,” Magnus said, voice tight, “it almost killed you.”

Alec’s thoughts skipped like a stele on an uneven surface. That made no sense. Magnus only just said that he understood - why would he then take that back? “So you won’t help me?”

“Alexander--”

Alec’s phone beeped. Grateful for the distraction, he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Then he looked up. “I need to get to the ops center,” he said. “The Clave finally responded.”

* * *

With the _new_ new director’s speech over, the crowd began to disperse.

Clary turned to Izzy. “Wait, if we’re on lockdown, who’s out there looking for Jace?” she asked.

Alec was too tired to roll his eyes at her. “No one. Which is exactly the same as before.”

“Alec, that ship is long out of port. It’s _also_ warded and cloaked, _so_ deeply that even Magnus couldn’t trace it,” Lydia said exasperatedly. “What good do you expect a foot search to be?”

“What are you saying, that we should just give up?” Clary demanded.

Izzy put her hand on Clary’s arm. “Clary,” she chided her gently.

“Don’t ‘Clary’ me, I know you’re thinking the same thing.”

This was useless, Alec decided. He couldn’t _think_ in the middle of a crowd and, with Aldertree’s introduction over, he had no reason to stay in the ops center. He needed to get to a quiet corner and _think_ , because _clearly_ , no one else was; they were just rehashing the same points as before.

No sooner did he turn around, though, than he ran straight into Aldertree.

“Alexander Lightwood,” the man said in that maddeningly soft manner of his.

“It’s Alec.”

Aldertree made no indication he’d even heard that. “I was just looking for you,” he said smoothly. “You’d be my first interviewee. Shall we?”

* * *

_Monday, September 12_

“Magnus. Magnus!” It was surreal, to have Magnus walk right past him as if he wasn’t there at all. It was a silly thing to get worked up about, and yet, Alec did. Perhaps it was because Jace was missing, and with him gone, with the parabatai bond a silent wall instead of a living thing, nothing in the world felt quite real; nothing, including Alec himself. To have Magnus pass by him like that reinforced that feeling. So Alec called after him again, until Magnus stopped and turned around.

“You going home?” Alec asked. It certainly seemed that Magnus was headed for the door, but that made no sense to Alec. Magnus _understood_ ; surely he wouldn’t just leave?

Or perhaps he would. “Where else would I be going?” Magnus replied scathingly. “My interview’s over, and I’m exhausted. Besides, in my house there’s steak and vodka. I’d rather be there.” Then, he turned back to the door.

“Wait!” Alec called out, desperately. “You’re just… you’re not going to help?” He hated how his voice sounded, undignified and helpless. But then again, there was nothing dignified about the wave of panic that overwhelmed him at the sight of Magnus turning his back and stepping away.

Magnus slowly turned back to face Alec. His face was frozen again, angry.

Alec’s stomach turned.

“You really don’t get it, do you,” Magnus said. His voice was soft, but had a definite edge to it. “I _do_ want to find Jace; you ought to know that. I understand what you’re going through, but that’s _no_ excuse to treat me like--“

This was even worse than Magnus turning away. “What do you want from me?” Alec asked, interrupting - then immediately regretted that, as Magnus pulled himself up.

“At the moment?” Magnus said; his voice was all sharp edges now. “ _Nothing_.”

The alarm began to blare; the hallway they were standing in was suddenly awash in red light. Alec only barely noticed these things: all his attention was on Magnus. He opened his mouth, hoping that if he just did that, words would come. But it was to no avail.

This time, when Magnus turned around, he left.

Alec stared after him for another moment, then forced himself to turn around and walk back to the ops center. His body felt distant and foreign; it felt less like he was the one moving and more as if he was controlling a puppet.

Then the puppet stopped; as if in his shock, Alec had dropped the strings.

Jace’s image was splayed over one of the holographic displays, the words “Wanted: Dead or Alive” burning underneath it.

“Who sounded the alarm?” he demanded, but no one responded. The only one who spoke was Clary.

“Aldertree said he wanted to rescue Jace,” she said.

“Actually, Clary,” said the man himself as he neatly cut through the crowd the alarm had drawn, “I said I wanted to _find_ him. Then Alexander gave me the clue I needed to do just that.”

The world whited out.

* * *

When Alec came to he was laying down, with something pressing against his right wrist. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in the infirmary, his hand cuffed to the bed and his mother sitting on a chair beside said bed.

“What’s going on?” Alec demanded. “Why am I restrained? Why am I even in the infirmary?”

“You attacked Aldertree,” Mother said. “We had to knock you out to stop you. It was all I could do to stop him from ordering you deruned then and there.”

“ _You_ brought him here.”

“What did you expect me to do? That Branwell girl was clearly not up to the task. She had the Cup literally stolen from her hands.”

“It was stolen by a man who was assigned here because of you, who received the punishment you should have.”

“Are you justifying what Hodge did?”

“No, I’m saying you don’t get to blame Lydia.”

“So you’re blaming me.”

Alec turned his face away from her.

“Alec,” she said gently after a moment. “You need to let Jace go. He’s not your brother. He’s not your blood.”

Alec turned his head back so quickly that it hurt. “He’s closer than blood; he’s my parabatai!”

“Alec, we’ve been fools. Taking in Valentine’s son, caring for him like our own?”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“It was a mistake. It put our family in danger.” She leaned forward and reached out to put her hand on his. “You need to forget Jace. He’s made his choice.”

Alec pulled his hand away. The metal cuff cut into his wrist, but he didn’t care. She didn’t care that Jace didn’t _choose_ to leave with Valentine, that he was forced to do so under duress; just like Aldertree. “Do you even hear what you’re saying?” he demanded. “If you kill him, you kill a part of me.”

She stared at him as though he was the one at fault. “If you have cancer, you cut it out before it destroys you.” Her voice softened. “Son, life is full of hard choices.”

Alec swallowed. “Don’t fool yourself. You’re not making a hard choice, you’re saving your own ass. And unlike you,” he continued as he awkwardly turned on his side, ignoring the way the cuff pulled at his hand, “I don’t give up on someone just because they’re a ‘hard choice’.”

“Alec…”

But he was done talking to her.

* * *

Aldertree put Alec under curfew just as he had the Fairchild women, but he didn’t put a guard on the back door, and no one who saw Alec on the way there questioned what he was doing. His sister would’ve, had she been paying attention, but Isabelle put herself on Clary-watch. Alec saw them training together before he headed out.

He didn’t activate his deflect rune. It was a calculated bet: that, given the ability to track Alec’s movements, Aldertree would let the violation slide - whereas had Alec gone off-grid, his name would’ve had “Wanted: Dead or Alive” next to it as well. Dusk found him still walking free, so evidently, his bet proved correct.

He hadn’t stopped for rest, food, or a drink of water all day; he had runes for those things. Instead, he investigated every pier in the city; investigated, and thought. There was no way to track Jace other than through their parabatai bond, of that he was sure. He knew well how thoroughly Jace could disappear when he wanted to, and Valentine had had longer to hone that craft. Tracking through the Bond was his only chance, but Alec couldn’t do that on his own. He remembered only too well how much it’d hurt when Hodge had drawn that rune; he’d never manage to redraw it himself. He needed help: someone to redraw it for him, or someone to take away the pain. The former kind of help he could find at the Institute: Aldertree would probably authorize it. However, Aldertree had also posted the _dead or alive_ order; Alec was wary of leading him to Jace. Better to find Jace on his own; then he could ensure Jace would make it to the Institute alive. But to do that, Alec would need the latter kind of help - and for that, he needed Magnus.

There were two things between him and Magnus’s help, Alec figured. The first was that Magnus was angry with him; the second, that Magnus didn’t like the risk to Alec’s life. The second was negotiable, Alec decided: Magnus of all people would understand how unacceptable a life without Jace would be for Alec. Magnus’s anger, though - _that_ was a problem.

The thought of Magnus being angry with him made Alec feel queasy with guilt, then too angry to think, because all his training told him that he owed Magnus nothing; and he was angry at himself for that anger, because these were his mother’s teachings. To make matters worse, Alec couldn’t trust his guilt any more than his anger. Had this happened three days earlier, before the spellbond was dissolved, Alec would’ve been on his knees, trembling.

Standing across the street from Magnus’s building, Alec knew that ten days were long enough for some habits to build. He couldn’t trust any of his responses to Magnus that hadn’t been there before the Bond. It was wearying, having to think and rethink his emotions this way, enough that it was almost a relief that he needed Magnus’s help to track Jace. It meant that no matter how Alec felt, no matter _why_ he felt that way, he still needed Magnus - and therefore, needed to pacify Magnus’s anger.

Alec crossed the road.

As he walked into the building, it hit Alec that he couldn’t feel the wards, anymore. He’d known that would happen, of course; it’d been a side-effect of the spellbond. But he hadn’t expected the sense of loss and the momentary fear, as if the ground wasn’t where he expected it to be.

Ruthlessly, Alec pushed the feeling down.

Magnus’s door had been left unlocked and somewhat ajar. For a moment, Alec hesitated with his hand hovering over the handle, then he pushed that feeling aside as well. It was a good thing that the door had been left open, Alec reminded himself as he made himself enter the loft: it meant Magnus had left it open for him, it meant that Alec had a _chance_.

Focusing on that thought helped him to not turn around when he saw that Magnus was out on the balcony, training - and deliberately ignoring Alec.

Magnus had his torso naked, perspiration beading on his skin, glistening. For a moment, the sight chased all thought from Alec’s mind. Then what he had to do reasserted itself.

“Magnus,” he said - or tried to say. His throat was constricted, and the word was barely audible. “Magnus,” he repeated, more successfully. “I’m not good at apologies, but-- I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

It was a long moment before Magnus - still practicing - said, pulling the syllable: “For?”

Alec closed his eyes. “You were right,” he told the darkness behind his lids. “I _was_ taking things out on you. That was wrong of me. I-- I don’t really know how to _deal_ with what’s happened. What’s happening. With Jace missing, it’s like the ground shifted and I can’t keep my balance, and--” He opened his eyes. Magnus was standing still, arms resting to the side of his body, but he still had his back to Alec. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you,” Alec finished, quietly. “You deserve better. I’m sorry.”

As he spoke, Magnus reached for a sleeveless hoodie, pulled it on and zipped it up. He turned around on the last two words and his face was - Alec’s eyes stung - soft, and free of anger.

“You’re forgiven,” Magnus said lightly. “And for the record,” he continued as he approached Alec, “you’re great at apologies.”

Alec’s cheeks burned, but he didn’t care. _Thanks_ , he wanted to say, but the word wouldn’t come up. Magnus - now nearly close enough to touch - was looking at him with an expression Alec couldn’t interpret: pensive and intense, yet still soft.

“Alexander,” Magnus said quietly. He reached up to touch Alec’s chin and tilt his face back up; meeting Magnus’s eyes was proving difficult.

Alec turned into the touch; he couldn’t help it.

Magnus went with the movement, spreading his fingers so that his hand cupped Alec’s face.

 _I really need you right now._ The words nearly spilled from Alec’s lips, but he was too afraid to break the moment: it was too precious to risk.

Magnus’s thumb brushed over his cheekbone, once, and then he gently pulled his hand away. Obligingly, Alec opened his eyes. Magnus’s expression was still pensive, still unreadable, but now it reminded Alec of sorrow.

Why was Magnus sad?

“I’m going to have to change my mind on the matter of helping you track Jace, aren’t I,” Magnus said.

 _Please_. Alec’s lips formed the word, but no sound came out.

Magnus sighed. “Then let’s get on with it.”

Few preparations were necessary: the couch was right there. All Alec had to do was lose his shirt and lay down on it, stele in hand. Magnus was behind the couch’s backrest, effectively standing over Alec. With a graceful wave of his hand, silvery-blue magic descended onto and into Alec’s body, sucking away pain and exhaustion. All Alec had to do was raise his stele and redraw the tracking rune. He’d just begun to do so when--

_Jace._

Alec dropped his stele.

“What happened? Did it start?” Magnus asked, alarmed.

“No.” Alec pushed himself up and reached for his shirt, body moving in autopilot. “I don’t need to; he’s on land.”

“Where is he?”

“Clark Street station.”

“That’s just a couple blocks from here.”

“He’s with Valentine. I have to get back to the Institute…”

“Alec. Alec.” Magnus reached forward and put his hands on Alec’s arms. He didn’t hold on, but nevertheless, the touch stopped Alec in place. “What happens if you get back to the Institute?”

“Aldertree will send a team…” Alec inhaled and closed his eyes as memory returned. “He ordered Jace retrieved dead or alive.”

“So don’t go back there.”

“I wasn’t even supposed to leave the Institute. If Aldertree finds out--”

“Were they still attempting to track him the usual way when you left?”

“Of course.” And they would be trying still. Realization dawned on Alec. “He isn’t blocking the trace, or I wouldn’t be able to actually _see_ where he is, even through our Bond.”

“So a team from the Institute must be already on their way.”

Alec pressed his palms together as if in prayer and brought them to his mouth. “Oh, Angels.”

“We can get there faster. I can portal us to one of the alleyways. From there, we can close the distance on foot.”

Alec had no doubt that his relief was evident on his face and on his body.

“But first,” Magnus continued, “I’m calling for backup.”

“Another warlock?” Alec asked warily. He trusted _Magnus_ ; he wasn’t sure how he felt about bringing another warlock in.

Magnus shook his head. “Do you know what pilots are?”

“I assume you don’t mean Mundane aircraft pilots.”

“Not even remotely. ‘Piloting’ is a variant on the Sight. Pilots can find the ideal way to achieve some objective - they pilot through possibilities.”

“You’re offering to bring in a _Mundane_?”

“No. I’m offering to bring in a pilot.”

Every second spent arguing was a second the Institute’s team drew closer to Jace. “Fine.”

Magnus reached for his phone. Alec caught sight of a green app icon, and then Magnus swiped up and recorded a message: “I need help on a rescue mission, going now.” He looked up at Alec. “It’s 5AM there, it may take a--”

The app dinged. Magnus glanced down at the phone automatically. “Oh good, we got Uri. He’ll need a second to grab his gear, and then I’ll portal him here.”

“Wait. Did you send that to an entire _group_ of pilots?”

“Something like that.”

The phone dinged again. Magnus glanced down at it, then summoned a portal.

The guy who stepped through was 5’6” and narrowly built; the plain white T - and the boxers - did little to hide his wiry musculature. He had huge almond-shaped brown eyes set wide apart in a triangular face and dark, close-cropped hair that would probably curl if allowed to grow out. He was carrying a duffel bag in one hand and a pair of shoes in the other.

“Ma, avarta dira?” he said, then caught sight of Alec and frowned. “What’s the Shadowhunter doing here?”

“We’re rescuing his parabatai,” Magnus said, then - before Uri could say anything - added: “From Valentine.”

Uri’s mouth closed with a snap. He dumped the content of his duffel on the couch, dropped the shoes on the floor and proceeded to - indeed - gear up. “Aunty will have words,” he said conversationally.

“But you’re in,” Magnus said, as if he wasn’t sure.

Uri gave him a look that said, quite clearly, that was a stupid question.

Alec didn’t think it was, given Uri’s attitude, but Magnus raised his arms as if saying, _Forget I asked._ Then he proceeded to do as Uri had asked. “Valentine and Jace are a few blocks from here. An Institute team is en route to intercept them. They won’t care if Jace is dead or alive.”

“What’d he do?” Uri asked.

“He didn’t do anything,” Alec snapped.

“He’s Valentine’s son,” Magnus said.

Uri’s hands stilled. He was almost done gearing up - he just needed to lace up his shoes. It was a moment before he asked: “Do I want to know what sort of a parent fucking _Valentine_ is?”

“No,” Magnus answered decisively; Alec was struggling to understand the question’s relevance.

Uri nodded, and laced up his shoes with a few quick tugs. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“I don’t see Jace,” Magnus said quietly. They were hiding around a corner. Valentine was standing in the middle of the road, in plain view. Jace was nowhere to be seen.

“He’s in that boarded-up store,” Alec replied, quiet as well. “There are vampires in there.” Jace was fighting the vampires. The Bond was so wide open that Alec could see and feel everything that Jace could; and yet, Jace didn’t seem to realize that Alec was there with him. Alec had no idea what could make Jace _that_ distracted.

Magnus’s sigh was almost inaudible. “One of Camille’s, probably.”

Alec glanced at him. “What does that have to-- forget it, I don’t want to know.” He looked back towards the boarded-up store. “I should be in there.”

“How do you intend to get past Valentine?” Magnus asked pointedly.

“A glamour.”

Uri snorted quietly.

“When he’s expecting company?” Magnus shook his head. “There’s more than even odds he’ll see right through it. How much trouble is Jace in?”

It was Alec’s turn to sigh. “He’s nearly destroyed them all. _What_ are you doing?” he hissed at Uri, who left their cover.

This time, Uri’s glare was aimed at him. “I only have a handgun. I want to shoot Valentine, I need to get closer.”

Shooting Valentine with a Mundane gun…? Before Alec could think of that well enough, the pizzeria’s glass front shattered. And there, right in the middle of the broken glass, were Jace and a female vampire.

The vampire was first at her feet, but she didn’t move to attack anyone. Instead she raised her hands and declared: “I surrender to the authority of the Clave.”

Jace’s emotions became even more of a swirling mess than they were before. There was guilt, there, and doubt, and a growing degree of despair. Alec wasn’t sure what brought that on.

Through the Bond, he knew that Jace’s hands were shaking.

The vampire was smiling. “You’re weak,” she told Jace. “I can smell it.”

Valentine chose that moment to speak up. “This thing in front of you,” he said, “was once Reggie the pizza guy’s sweet and loving wife.”

The vampire spun around. “You leave my husband out of this!”

“You mean the man you murdered?” Valentine asked pleasantly. “You mean the man you devoured?”

The vampire lunged.

Jace threw the improvised stake he was still holding.

The vampire’s body disintegrated into a cloud of demonic blood, then that was gone as well.

That was when Alec noticed Jocelyn. She was standing at the edge of his field of vision, right behind Valentine’s back. She was holding a crossbow, a loaded crossbow. Alec’s eyes tracked her aim.

She wasn’t aiming at Valentine. She was aiming at _Jace._

Alec broke at a dead run. Magnus called after him, but Alec didn’t have the time for that. Jace didn’t.

Valentine dropped to the ground, suddenly out of Alec’s path. Even so, he barely made it in time to push Jace out of the way of Jocelyn’s arrow. He had no time to move himself, though, and the arrow penetrated his side, just under his ribs. Had Alec not pushed Jace out of the way, the arrow would’ve gone right through his heart.

Jocelyn was already reloading but behind her, Alec could see Clary and Simon arriving at what was - for Clary - a dead run.

Then Jocelyn dropped to the ground, too.

Using his left hand to tear the arrow out hurt like fuck, but Alec preferred to redraw his healing rune with his right, if he could.

Jace was back on his feet. For a second he stared at Alec, wide-eyed, and then he was on Valentine - on his father: Jace’s emotions rang clear and true across the Bond, and Alec couldn’t deny the relationship, couldn’t deny that Jace loved the man dearly.

He also couldn’t deny that Jace wasn’t going back to the Institute. Given what Jocelyn had just done - Alec realized - he wasn’t sure that _he_ wanted Jace at the Institute, either.

Clary and Jocelyn were arguing, Simon standing to the side and - wonder upon wonders - scanning their environment. His eyes snapped to something behind Alec’s shoulder.

When Alec turned his head, he saw Lydia coming at a run.

If Lydia was there, a team was not far.

They were out of time. Jace was still healing Valentine - Uri’s aim had been true.

There was only one thing Alec could do, if he wanted to protect his parabatai.

Decisively he strode over to where Jace was kneeling by his father’s side, pulled him up with both hands, then bent down to lift Jace’s father and sling him over his shoulder.

Only one place would be safe for them, and Alec had never been there.

“Think of the ship,” he told Jace, grabbed his parabatai’s shoulder, then - still holding on to him - pushed him through the still-waiting portal, so that he took all three of them with him.

Once in the bowels of the ship, Alec dropped Valentine on the deck, none too gently. Then he turned to hug his parabatai; the only thing Alec could tell for sure about him was that he was a total fucking _mess_.

For a moment Jace clutched and held on to him as if to dear life. Then he pushed Alec away with both his hands against Alec’s shoulders. “What did you do?” he demanded, angry and afraid.

“I told you,” Alec replied unhesitatingly, “where you go, I will go. And you weren’t going back to the Institute.”

“Well, that was unexpected,” Valentine remarked.

Jace and Alec turned to face him, perfectly synchronized.

Valentine pushed himself up, moving gingerly as he redrew his runes. “I don’t suppose you know who the gunman was, do you?”

Acting on instinct, Alec replied with a flat: “No.”

Simultaneously, Jace demanded: “Gunman?”

“It was no Shadowhunter weapon that did this,” Valentine said, pointing to his torn and bloodied jacket. “That was most definitely a gun. Good aim, whoever they were.” Valentine shrugged, an overly large and obviously artificial gesture. “Well, I have to say you surprised me, Alexander. I wish my parabatai had had your loyalty.”

Valentine had led his parabatai to an ambush, fully intending for him to die; Lucian Graymark wasn’t the disloyal one, in Alec’s opinion, but he knew how monumentally stupid it would be to voice that opinion.

Something must’ve shown on his face, though, because Valentine said: “You seem to disagree. Do I need to worry about you trying to kill me, too?”

 _Too?_ Alec thought. Jace’s emotions provided the answer to that question - and to the one Alec had just been asked, too. He was loath to say it, but his answer was “No.” Jace loved his father and felt deeply ashamed of having - apparently - tried to kill him. Alec wouldn’t be able to kill the man.

Valentine studied him for a moment, then grinned. “In that case, welcome aboard.”


	5. Nine of Wands (Jace)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Great Force. Taking on a mantle; perseverance, protectiveness, unlikely to trust. Reversed: attack imminent, paranoia, isolation.

_Think of the ship,_ Alec had said, and like an idiot, Jace had. He only realized what a monumentally stupid a thing he’d done - they’d _both_ done - a good several moments later, standing in the middle of Valentine’s prison, clinging to his parabatai as if for dear life.

He _needed_ Alec. Jace forced himself to push him away instead. “What did you do?” he demanded.

“I told you,” Alec shot back hotly. “Where you go, I will go. And you weren’t going back to the Institute.”

Jace stared at him, his mind blank.

“Well, that was unexpected,” his father said.

Jace spun to face him.

His father pushed himself to his feet even while redrawing runes. “I don’t suppose you know who the gunman was, do you?”

“No,” Alec said flatly.

Jace’s heart skipped a beat: Alec had just lied. Alec was a terrible liar: if Valentine kept up this line of questioning, Alec would be caught. The best diversion Jace could come up with was to ask: “Gunman?”

“It was no Shadowhunter weapon that did this,” his father said, pointing at his torn and bloodied jacket. “That was most definitely a gun.” Then he shrugged and added: “Good aim, whoever they were.”

Jace almost sagged with relief at that shrug. It indicated that Jace’s diversion had worked - that his father wasn’t going to continue chasing what Alec did or didn’t know about the mystery gunman.

Indeed, the next thing his father said was: “Well, I have to say you surprised me, Alexander. I wish my parabatai had had your loyalty.”

His father had led _his_ parabatai to an ambush, fully intending for him to die; Lucian Graymark wasn’t the disloyal one.

“You seem to disagree,” his father said, but he was looking at Alec. “Do I need to worry about you trying to kill me, too?”

 _Yes_ , Jace thought - Alec wasn’t one to shy away from Necessity, as difficult as it was - but Alec’s reply was “No,” and it wasn’t a lie.

What had just happened?

Jace’s father studied Alec for a moment, then grinned. “In that case, welcome aboard. Do you like spaghetti?”

Alec looked like a deer in headlights. Jace couldn’t fault him. “He makes the best red sauce,” he forced himself to say.

“You never eat the red sauce,” Alec shot back.

Jace’s father laughed. “Jonathan! Oh, I like _you_ already,” he added, directing the words at Alec. “Let’s move this party to the galley. You can let that portal go now, Dot,” he tossed at the brown-skinned woman who - Jace already knew - was his favorite warlock to use, the one who was holding the ship’s glamour and defenses.

_Dot._

Luckily, Jace’s father had already turned away from them. That was how he missed Jace and Alec exchanging a significant glance. They both knew the name.

Dot Rollins was Clary’s friend.

* * *

Technically, Alec was assigned the room right next to Jace’s. Technically. In practice, Jace and Alec exchanged a glance as soon as Jace’s father had left, then went into the room that was - technically - Jace’s.

Jace didn’t ask, _Why did you do that?_ and not because he knew the answer would be _Because you’re my parabatai._ Jace already had a plan, and it had the best odds of succeeding if Alec suspected nothing.

He stepped into Alec, and his parabatai wrapped him up unhesitatingly.

Jace put his head on Alec’s shoulder, took a deep breath, and let go.

* * *

_Tuesday, September 13_

In the first moments after waking up, Jace wasn’t sure where or even when he was. Alec was still asleep; Alec was laying on top of him, because the bed was too narrow for both of them. The last time he and Alec had fallen asleep in the same bed they had been small enough that they _fit_ and also, they weren’t parabatai yet: how could Jace feel Alec’s still-sleeping mind? Then, though, the scents registered - metal and salt - and Jace knew where he was and when.

 _Shit_ , Jace thought, because Alec had followed him to the damn ship and then _fuck_ , because the first thought had almost woken Alec up.

Jace woke up first. That was good. He could get his plan going - if only he could get up without waking Alec. So long as Jace could keep his emotions tranquil, though, then Alec would remain asleep. Not for long; but perhaps for long enough. Jace only needed about three minutes, five at the outside.

At the room’s door, Jace stopped. He wanted to turn around and look at Alec, but he also knew that if he did that, he may be unable to walk out. He didn’t _want_ to move away from Alec; what he wanted was to turn right around and get back in bed, pillow his head on Alec’s chest so that he could hear Alec’s pulse with his ears and his heart both. Without Alec--

Jace pushed himself out the door and closed it behind him gently. His head felt clearer, having spent the entire night with the Bond wide open between them. Everything that Jace had believed in before the previous day made sense again; his father seemed a madman, again. It was so much easier to believe in this reality, _so_ much easier - but the truth was that Jace was stronger than other Shadowhunters, faster than them, and that much better at killing.

Jace had demon blood. And if he wanted to protect Alec, then he needed to _not_ see himself through Alec’s eyes.

Dot was Jace’s father’s favorite, but she was still a warlock. She didn’t have a room with a bed, but she did have a mattress and a corner all to herself, at the outside edges of the prison - almost, but not quite, outside of it. His father had fetched her from there when he had her portal them to the pizzeria, and so Jace knew just where to find her.

She woke up when he was a full yard from her. She also woke up afraid: her eyes widened at the sight of him and she pushed herself against the wall.

Jace fell into a crouch and spread his hands to the side. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Dot didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to: her skepticism was quite obvious in her expression.

“Is your name Dot Rollins?”

She nodded, once, quick and sharp. Her eyes were still wide with fear.

“Clary’s told me about you. She thinks you’re dead.”

Jace’s words definitely affected Dot, but not the way he expected: she only seemed more stressed. It was a few seconds before she asked in a small voice: “Why are you telling me this?”

“I need you to portal Alec away. My parabatai.”

“Valentine--" Dot began, but Jace made an abortive gesture with his hand, straightened up and turned around. Someone was coming down the hall. And if Jace was lucky than it’d be--

Alec.

“Jace?” he asked as he approached. “I woke up and you weren’t there, what are you doing-- Oh,” he said, catching sight of Dot.

Dot’s eyes flickered between them. She still seemed scared, but she pushed herself up bit by bit. “Do you really know Clary?” she asked.

“Unfortunately,” Alec replied after a moment. He glanced at Jace, a quick flick of his eyes only. “So what’s the plan?”

“What plan?” Jace asked. He was playing for time: Dot was moving, getting closer to the both of them. He needed to delay Alec long enough for Dot to get in range. “Who needs a plan when we can just portal out?”

“We can’t go to the Institute. We were seen last night.”

Well, shit. Jace thought quickly. “Then we go to Magnus’s.”

A beat, then Alec said: “That works.”

“Before we go, there’s something I need to tell you,” Jace said. His heart ached. He didn’t want to tell Alec this. He didn’t. But it was the only way to keep Alec safe, to keep Alec away from Jace. Alec had to understand. “Valentine showed me a memory of his. From when Jocelyn was pregnant with me. He…” Jace swallowed. “He experimented on me.”

“What did he do?” demanded Alec, quick and angry.

Dot was close enough to reach out and grab Alec’s arm. Jace didn’t need to delay any more. Still, the words hurt coming out, as if they were broken glass. “Demon blood. He injected me with…” Jace scrunched his eyes shut.

“He’s lying,” Alec said, impossibly certain. “You can’t have demon blood, Jace, that’s--"

“I can show you,” Dot said. She’d gotten her fear under control.

Alec turned to her and stared.

Moving very slowly, Dot reached out for his hand. Alec didn’t move away. As soon as Dot touched him red-orange magic streamed out of her and up Alec’s arm, his neck, to his head. For a moment it covered his eyes completely. Then Dot removed her hand.

Alec didn’t move.

“What did you do?” Jace demanded.

“What you asked for,” she shot back. With a wave of her hand, a portal opened up behind Alec. “Go to Magnus Bane,” she told him.

Alec turned around and walked through the portal.

Jace doubled over as the Bond went silent again.

Footsteps sounded down the hall. A moment later, and Jace could see who it was: his father.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded.

“I sent Alec away,” Jace said. His voice was stable as he said that, but it cracked as he continued: “I’m not… I’m not safe for him.”

His father looked at Dot.

“He threatened to kill me if I didn’t help,” Dot said. Her voice was flat and dull.

His father must have believed her, because he turned his gaze back to Jace and tsked his tongue. “Now that wouldn’t do, Jonathan.”

“It got Alec out of our hair,” Jace said. He sounded weary, but Hell: he’d just knowingly sent his parabatai where he couldn’t sense him at all. It would be amiss if he _didn’t_ seem affected.

His father considered him for a moment, then stepped forward and placed both his hands on Jace’s shoulder. “You did well, Jonathan,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”

And without Alec, there was nothing to hold back the rush of having heard those words from his father.

* * *

When Jace made it to the upper deck, there was a fresh line of Mundanes in front of the glowing tank that had the Mortal Cup dunked in it. These, Jace noticed, were a more uniform crowd than the first batch. Most seemed to be in their 20s or 30s, with the odd late teen thrown in; all of them were fit; and many, Jace noticed, were in gis or other Mundane fighting gear.

And also, almost none of them seemed happy to be there.

Jace had a very bad feeling about this.

He walked quietly down the line. No-one would meet his eyes. Jace’s bad feeling intensified. He remembered his history lesson: once upon a time, when the Cup was in more regular use by the Clave, Shadowhunters didn’t wait on volunteers to find _them_. Instead, they went out and found those persons who had the better chance of surviving the Cup: the young, the able and the Sighted.

Was this what his father was doing? Were his troops out the night before not hunting Downworlders, but kidnapping Mundanes? That was wrong: Shadowhunters were supposed to _protect_ Mundanes, to create the illusion of safety that made the Mundane way of life possible.

Suddenly, Izzy’s face swam in front of his eyes. Not Izzy as she was now, but Izzy as she’d been when Jace first came to live with the Lightwoods, and all three of them - Alec, Jace and Izzy - had to face the difference of the way Jace had been raised from the way Alec and Izzy were. Izzy had been horrified; at the time, Jace had no idea why. Now, though, having been involved in raising Max all these years, and Max being not much older than Jace had been then--

Jace stopped next to one boy. He was about Jace’s age, dressed in street clothes, and his face was set in cold fury.

“Are you okay?” Jace asked quietly.

The boy glanced at him. His expression didn’t waver. “Peachy,” he replied in a tone to match.

“Do you need help? You don’t have to do this.” Jace’s heart was hammering. He’d be punished for this, he knew. The only question was how severely - and the years that passed had done the opposite of mellow his father out. It’d be bad for Jace, if he smuggled this one boy out. Jace knew that, but he couldn’t help the instinct: this boy wasn’t born a Shadowhunter. His was a different birthright.

The boy’s face became even harder. “I want to do this. Those monsters killed my father.”

The words hit like a gut punch. Another Mundane failed by the Clave, then. “I’m sorry,” Jace said quietly.

This time, the boy’s eyes lingered on him. “You been a Shadowhunter long?”

“Only since I was born.”

The boy’s eyes widened. Then, inexplicably, he held out his hand. “Jeremy.”

Jace took the offered hand, but the name he introduced himself by was “Jonathan.” _Jace_ belonged in a different life.

“Wait,” Jeremy blurted out. “Jonathan - you’re Valentine’s son.”

Jeremy couldn’t have been with them for more than a few hours, and already he knew that? Jace felt cold. All he could do was nod.

“Then why’d you offer to get me out of here?” Jeremy asked. The moment of openness was gone - now he seemed suspicious.

Jace replied in the truth: “Because you weren’t born into this. This should’ve never been your fight.”

“Well, it is,” Jeremy spat out.

“Yeah,” Jace said quietly. His heart was aching. “I get that.”

* * *

By ten in the morning, dead bodies were again strewn across the deck. Handling them was the first task assigned to the survivors, the freshly-minted Shadowhunters.

Jace joined them. He didn’t speak to anyone, didn’t bother to learn anyone else’s name. A big raid was planned for that night, he knew: his father had spoken about it in front of the assembly. They’d be going out against a rogue werewolf pack. His father was planning on taking on two times as many Shadowhunters as would ordinarily be sent on this type of a mission - but these were new Shadowhunters: their mortality rate would be higher. Jace could only hope he’d manage to make it a little lower.

Oh, yes, he was going. He didn’t want to - didn’t want to give in again to his gift for killing - but he’d been standing right next to Jeremy when Valentine had asked him to, and the other boy’s gaze had kept Jace from refusing.

But he kept from learning anyone else’s name. He participated in training them, but he didn’t learn their names. He knew the odds: he had a good idea of how many of them weren’t going to survive their first week.

He knew what he looked like, to their eyes: cold, aloof, arrogant. He’d been hearing those words aimed at him his entire life. Most everyone never realized just why Jace kept his distance.

On some level, he must’ve always known he was a monster.

* * *

They ended up getting lucky: the wolf that Jeremy IDed as the one who’d killed his father had only one pack member with her when they found her. Two wolves - of which one was a scrawny teenager - and over ten Shadowhunters plus a warlock: those were not even odds.

Oh, yeah, a warlock tagged along, Valentine's second-favorite. They couldn’t risk Alec tracking Jace again, and there was only so much that the anti-tracking rune was going to help against a parabatai Bond. Warlocks were better at tracking, and they were better at blocking it, too.

Find the wolf, truss up the wolf, then back through the portal. Easy-peasy.

And if Jace could feel Alec beating against the block--

Then his father smiled at both Jeremy and him, and asked: “Which one of you boys would like to do the honours?”

Jace stared at him, non-comprehending.

Jeremy lifted his blade, then stopped in place.

“Go on,” Jace’s father said. “She did kill your father.”

“I didn’t kill anyone!” The girl said; she’d transformed back to a human form when they knocked her out. “I swear! I never killed so much as a squirrel!”

“Liar!” Jeremy spat. “A white wolf killed my father. I saw you today. Don’t try to deny it!”

“I’m part of the Jade Wolf pack, we don’t hurt people, I swear!” She turned to Jace. “You know me, you know that I am, please, please, help me!”

The Jade Wolf? That was Luke’s pack. Jace stared at her. Then the memory snapped into place. “You were there the night Hodge stole the Cup.” He turned to his father, ready to plead the girl’s innocence - and immediately knew he was going to fail.

“How long has Luke been alpha, two weeks?” his father said dismissively. “How well did you know the previous management?”

“Does it matter? She’s a prisoner now, she can’t hurt anyone! We don’t need to kill her!”

“You need to get that Clave nonsense out of your head, Son. Where’s my boy?”

The girl was crying, tears and snot streaming down her face. “Please, please don’t kill me, please…”

Jace turned to Jeremy. “Jeremy, have you ever killed - anyone, anything? Are you absolutely sure you want to…”

Jeremy ran the girl through with his blade, then pulled it out.

“Now I have,” he spat out.”Coward.”

Jace’s father marched off, shouting orders. Other Shadowhunters moved in, ready to throw the body overboard as soon as Dot would lower the shield.

Jace’s ears were ringing. Spots were dancing in his vision. What was wrong with him? This was far from his first dead body. Wasn’t he supposed to be…?

_Jace._

Jace startled: that was Alec’s voice.

_Jace, that isn’t you. Jace, can you hear me? Jace!_

There was something sticky on his face. Jace touched it: his fingers came away coated with blood. His nose was bleeding…? Suddenly, Jace’s blood ran cold: could that be truly Alec? It didn’t feel the way it had felt in Faery, that time that Alec had tracked him through their Bond, and yet - he could _feel_ Alec.

_Jace!_

The air crackled as Dot removed the shield and, suddenly, Jace knew what he had to do. Alec wasn’t going to give up; Alec was going to keep coming for Jace, he was going to keep doing it even if it--

_To love is to destroy._

But Jace could choose which direction the destruction turned to.

He grabbed the rail, and threw himself over it, down into the water.

* * *

He was woken up by a sudden touch on his shoulder. Jace reacted by instinct, and rolled away. He couldn’t figure out what sort of a surface he was lying on or, indeed, where he was. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the starry sky.

“Jace, right?”

Jace turned his head, and saw a strange woman. She was about average height, wearing what seemed to be - in the meager light - jeans and a pullover entirely too warm for the season. She was standing about where he’d been before rolling - she must’ve been the one to wake him up. They were at a beach, and other than the two of them, it was deserted.

“My name is Meirav,” she continued. “I’m a friend of Magnus’s.”

“Excuse me if I don’t take your word for it,” he said. Carefully, he pushed himself up, first into a sitting position and only then all the way up. He patted his pockets; no stele. It was dark, wet and autumn, and he’d lost his jacket in the water.

He was amazed he even survived, but that was a problem for later.

The woman’s voice was mild as she said: “Do you want my cell phone?”

It was a good thing that he had good memory. “Yes,” he said.

She nodded. She lifted one hand so he could see it clearly, put it in her jacket pocket, then showed him what she was holding - which indeed seemed like a cell phone. “Let me unlock that for you,” she said, and proceeded to do that before tossing the phone over.

Jace caught it carefully. He pulled up her address book, and frowned: all the entries were in a foreign alphabet - a right-to-left one. He didn’t bring it up with her; instead he thumbed over to the dial pad and dialed Magnus from memory.

The warlock answered after one ring. “Did you find him?” he asked. He sounded anxious.

“Depends on who she was looking for,” Jace said.

“Jace!” Relief coloured Magnus’s voice. “Oh thank goodness.”

“So I take it Meirav really is a friend of yours.”

“Absolutely. Get back here as soon as possible. Alec needs you.”

Alec? Instinctively, Jace tried to reach for him through their Bond. Something was wrong, though: the Bond was there and didn’t seem weaker, but Jace’s thoughts and emotions bounced back at him. He could sense that Alec was _there_ \- as clearly as if Alec was standing right next to him, in fact - but that was all.

Jace could ask Magnus what the Hell was going on, or he could do as Magnus said and get to Alec’s side as soon as possible. “On my way,” he said into the phone, then disconnected the line.

He walked over to Meirav and handed her back her phone. She took it, bent down, picked something up and handed it to him.

It turned out to be a travel mug, and the coffee was just the way he liked it.

“What language is that, by the way?” he asked, mostly to see if she’ll try to evade.

She didn’t. “Hebrew. Cab’s waiting for us thataway. It’ll take us to where Magnus can portal us over from.”

They started in the direction she indicated. Jace’s mind was spinning, running on two tracks at once. On the first, he was still trying to get a clear reading of Alec. On the other-- “You’re a long way from home.” A local person wouldn’t have their phone be in _Hebrew,_ probably not even if they were Jewish, if Simon was any metric. She was Israeli. That raised about a thousand questions, but at the moment Jace didn’t care about any of them: Alec needed him.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Let’s get you to your parabatai ASAP.”

“Do you know what’s wrong?”

“He tried to track you and his soul got a little too torn away from his body.”

That stopped Jace in his tracks. “ _What?_ ”

She turned around so she could face him and kept walking, which forced Jace to keep up with her. She didn’t seem to worry about stumbling over something, walking backwards in the dark. “You should be able to reverse that, but that’s why we’re in a hurry.”

The dark shape of what was - probably - their cab became visible in the dark. The driver must’ve seen them at the same time, because the engine and the headlights both turned on.

“I’m going to want the full story at some point,” he told her.

She nodded, and turned back around to walk forward.

Jace followed her into the cab.

* * *

Somehow, it didn’t surprise Jace that their portal point was a nightclub. It figured Magnus knew clubs everywhere, including-- wherever they were. Jace wasn’t exactly sure, other than they were on the East Coast still, and still in the same climate zone as NYC.

They didn’t enter the club. Meirav turned around the corner from the entry queue, then texted - probably Magnus, because a portal materialized next to them in seconds.

They stepped through.

Over in Magnus’s living room, Alec was lying on a couch. He was too pale. There was another guy there, a stranger, but at the moment Jace couldn’t care less about that.

He started in Alec’s direction, but Meirav touched his elbow. “Unless things are more dire than they should be, you’re going to change into something dry first.”

Jace turned his head to stare at her. Now that he could see her in proper light, he could tell that she was probably middle aged: there were fine lines in her face, around her green eyes, and her hair was a fading brown strung through with white.

She was also completely calm, and it wasn’t the calm of one who didn’t understand the situation: it was the calm of someone who understood it all too well.

Jace’s protest died on his lips. He took the stack of clothes that Magnus handed him and went over to change.

“I lost my stele,” was the first thing he said when he returned.

“Shouldn’t matter for the task at hand,” Magnus said. He handed Jace a green stone with a rune cut into one of its faces. “This is all you need. It’s adamas,” he explained before Jace could ask. “Alec used it to try and communicate with you through your Bond, without destroying it.”

“And his soul got stuck in the middle,” Jace said, putting what Magnus said together with what Meirav had. That explained the strange sense of the Bond.

“Yes,” Magnus said, and stepped away.

Jace sat down at the end of the couch. No-one had told him what to do; perhaps they didn’t know - Jace had read everything that the Institute’s library had about parabatai, everything that those libraries he had access to at Idris had, and he’d never heard of using adamas this way. This was obscure.

On a hunch, Jace closed Alec’s hand around the adamas and his hand around Alec’s. The old words came to his lips on their own: “Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee. For whither thou goest I will go, and whither thou lodges I will lodge. Thy people will be my people, thy God will be my God. And whither thou diest I will die, and there will I be buried. The Angel do so to me if ought but death--"

As Jace spoke, the room around him faded. He was thrust back in time to the day he and Alec had become parabatai - the day that Alec had almost, _almost_ not shown up, but eventually did. Jace had known why; Izzy had known why, too; but it had remained unspoken for years since, until a few days before.

The Bond changed; it no longer echoed Jace back to him, but it was as if Alec couldn’t hear Jace, as if he was stuck somewhere--

Jace had heard Alec, back on the ship. Alec had succeeded in communicating with him. Jace never answered, though, hadn’t realized what was happening. Perhaps it was because of that that Alec reached out too far.

Jace’s voice broke on the word _death_ , and he couldn’t utter another word. He could _feel_ Alec slipping further and further away.

 _Alec!_ Jace called out with his mind and heart. _Alec! Please don’t leave me-- Please, Alec, please, I’ll do anything--_

_Live._

The one word, in Alec’s voice, echoing inside his head, startled Jace. The adamas dropped to the ground.

“--part thee and me,” Alec croaked out.

Jace didn’t think: he bent forward to lift Alec and hold him close to his chest, to press his forehead to Alec’s temple.

The Bond was a river, and Jace let it drown him.

* * *

By the time Magnus pushed two large mugs of hot chocolate into their hands, Jace regained some ability to think straight - enough to realize that things were not as simple as Alec not dying anymore.

Meirav and the other guy - short, could handle himself, about Jace’s and Alec’s age - were arguing in a language that was probably Hebrew.

Alec looked at Magnus, who explained: “Uri has another 30 minutes before someone might realize that he’s missing from base.”

“I have--" began the guy whose name was apparently Uri.

Meirav sighed. It sounded deliberate. “Pick Magnus’s deadline or mine, but you do not have an hour. You want to help, don’t get declared AWOL.”

That shut Uri up.

Jace _still_ had no idea who he was or what he was doing there, but he also had other priorities. “Not that I’m not grateful for your help,” he told Magnus, “but I do have to ask--"

“--why we’re not at the Institute?” Magnus completed. He sat down on the armchair; the Israelis occupied the smaller couch. “That would be because it has a new and rather hostile management.”

“Victor Aldertree,” Alec spat out.

“Never heard of him,” Jace said promptly.

“Rumor has it, he’s angling for being the next Inquisitor,” Magnus said. “He certainly acts the part.”

The _current_ Inquisitor had tried to derune Izzy barely two weeks before. “How bad is it?”

“He declared you wanted dead or alive,” Alec said.

“And other than that?” Jace asked.

Alec gave him a Look.

“Alec--" Jace started.

In response, Alec raised his voice. His words were clipped. “You do not have demon blood, Jace.”

Jace glanced at Magnus and the Israelis out of the corner of his eye. Magnus and Meirav didn’t seem surprised; Uri had his face in his hands, which may or may not have been a gesture of surprise.

It was Meirav who spoke, voice just as calm as before. “That can be easily tested, provided we figure out how to get Aldertree to order the test at all.”

Magnus turned his head towards her. “Still nothing?”

“I’m a Seer, Magnus, not omniscient.”

Seer? That was an angelic gift. Then again, she was Israeli, and _some_ sort of mystery resided in that land. At the moment, though, Jace couldn’t care less about that.

Alec spoke first, though. “Jace, you were sick just _thinking_ about killing that girl.”

“What girl?” Magnus asked sharply.

Jace swallowed, and made himself face the warlock. “She’s from Luke’s pack. I don’t know her name. About our age, Black, white hair. She was there the night that…”

“White wolf form?” Alec asked.

Jace nodded.

“Gretel,” Alec said. “Her name’s Gretel.”

“She’s been missing since the afternoon,” Magnus said. To judge by his tone and facial expression, he knew where this was going.

Uri, too, seemed as if he knew where this was going. Meirav was still expressionless.

Jace swallowed, and forced himself to say: “She’s dead.”

“You didn’t kill her,” Alec said, “you tried to save her life, I _saw_ you.”

“That’ll be helpful in convincing Aldertree that you left the ship at the same time,” Meirav said.

Jace stared at Alec. “Wait, no one knows…? Izzy--"

“--knows I’m fine, she was here.”

“Your parabatai,” Meirav said, and it figured the first emotion in her voice would be sardonic humor, “cannot be trusted to not blow the cover Lydia constructed for him.”

For a moment that made no sense; then Jace remembered that he was wanted dead or alive, and that Alec had saved his and his father’s lives.

And Lydia was covering for them? Jace really _had_ gotten her all wrong.

The thought hurt too much, so Jace changed tact. “Who are you, again?” he asked Uri.

It was Alec who replied, “Guy who shot Valentine and Jocelyn. I’m not sure why he’s here now, either.”

Uri looked at Alec as if the answer was totally obvious to him, and he couldn’t believe that Alec didn’t get it.

“Uri gets worried,” Magnus said after a moment. There was humor in his voice.

“He’s 21, Magnus,” Meirav said. “What’s your excuse?”

Magnus opened his mouth, lifted his finger, then said: “I have none.” Then, his phone dinged. Magnus didn’t just check the message but also replied to whoever it was before he lifted his gaze again. “The good news or the bad news?” he asked.

Alec and Jace looked at each other. So did Uri and Meirav.

When a moment passed and none of them spoke, Magnus continued: “Well, the good news is, Lydia and Isabelle are on their way. The so-so news is that they don’t have Gretel’s body, and probably won’t. The bad news is, they know she’s dead - and there’s evidence connecting Jace to her murder.”


	6. Three of Swords (Isabelle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Established Strength. Foresight, movement, expansion - things or people are in their right place and results are beginning to show. Reversed: restriction, failure, arrogance, misuse of power.

_Monday, September 12_

By the time Lydia’s team marched back in it was midnight. They must’ve marched back on foot. Isabelle wasn’t sure whether or not that was good news: it meant that the team hadn’t captured Jace or Valentine alive - but for all she knew, Jace might’ve been killed.

The first thing that Isabelle noticed when the doors slid open to reveal the team was that they weren’t carrying any dead bodies. Jace had evaded them, then; that was - not quite _good_ , because it meant that Valentine still had him, but it was better than the alternative. Then, though, she noticed the three people in the middle of the formation, held close under guard: Clary, Jocelyn and Simon - and the two Fairchild women were positioned as far apart from each other as they could get and coldly ignoring one another.

Isabelle had a _really_ bad feeling about this.

Aldertree marched right up to the team and its prisoners. “I seem to recall ordering the two of you to not leave the Institute,” he told Clary and her mother.

Isabelle could only barely hear him, over the distance - and _her_ guards weren’t letting her get any closer. They didn’t, however, prevent her from running her hearing rune.

“You didn’t put them under guard,” Lydia said coolly.

“You didn’t suggest that I should,” Aldertree replied.

Lydia cocked her head at him, arching up a single perfect eyebrow.

Aldertree lost that round, and from the way he deflated, he seemed to know that.

Lydia continued. “Someone brought a gun to a seraph blade fight. They shot at Valentine - and Jocelyn.”

What the…?

Aldertree turned to better consider Jocelyn.

“You are a fool if you think I’ll side with him again,” Jocelyn said. Her voice was even colder than Lydia’s. “I spent 18 years hiding--"

“You spent 18 years not removing that rune from your neck,” Aldertree cut her off. His tone was scathing as he continued: “I’d be a fool to not wonder why that is.”

“Person with the gun wasn’t the only one trying to kill Valentine,” Lydia said. “Difference is, they got away.”

Aldertree’s attention snapped right back to her. “Who didn’t?”

“Alec Lightwood. Valentine’s got him.”

“Are you sure he hasn’t just joined his parabatai?”

Lydia’s look was even more scathing than Aldertree’s tone had been a moment earlier. “Ask the witnesses.”

“I will.”

“Izzy?” That was Laney; she was one of those Aldertree had grabbed to guard Isabelle.

“Don’t you ‘Izzy’ me,” Isabelle snapped at her.

“Fine,” Laney snapped right back. “But do you or do you _not_ want to have the entire Institute watching your every reaction right now?”

That made Isabelle actually look at Laney. The other Shadowhunter’s expression was stony, but-- she hadn’t stopped Isabelle from redrawing her hearing rune.

Isabelle nodded once, curtly, and let Laney lead her away.

* * *

_Tuesday, September 13_

“Go away,” Isabelle snapped when she heard the door to her room open.

“Not your choice,” said Lydia’s voice, but the door to Isabelle’s room closed again.

Footsteps.

When Isabelle turned around, Clary was there.

“Clary!” Isabelle was on her in a heartbeat.

Clary held on to her just as tightly.

“I can’t believe they’re letting us be together,” Isabelle said when they let go of each other.

“Lydia’s talked Aldertree into it, said they need the personnel and can’t waste two guard teams on us,” Clary said.

“I don’t know if it’s good news or bad news.”

“Good news,” Clary said. Then she took a deep breath. “Izzy, there’s something you need to know. Alec… he wasn’t taken.”

“What? Then where is he? Why would Lydia…”

Clary cut her off. “Lydia’s protecting him. She lied to Aldertree, we all did. Izzy-- he wasn’t taken, he _went_. He saved Jace _and_ Valentine. From my mother.”

Isabelle stared at Clary. Then she shook herself. “We’re going to sit down. And then you’re going to start from the beginning.”

* * *

Breakfast and Lydia both arrived at 06:00.

Isabelle eyed the tray: that was a serving for one.

“You,” Lydia snapped at Clary, then tilted her head towards the door. “Out.”

“Where are you taking me?” Clary demanded.

The look Lydia levelled at her was hostile. If not for what Clary had told her, Isabelle would’ve never believed Lydia was on their side.

“You’re being moved in with your mother,” Lydia said curtly. “I need Isabelle. Now go.”

Clary left without another word, but she did cast one last look behind her shoulder, at Isabelle.

She nodded. “Go,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

As soon as she and Lydia were left alone, Lydia heaved a great sigh - and just like that, the icy front was gone. “This has been a _very_ long night. Did Clary tell you…?”

“That you’re covering for my brother? Yes.”

Lydia nodded tiredly, then sat on the edge of Isabelle’s bed. “Eat your breakfast. I’ll fill you in.”

“Clary already did,” Isabelle said, but she did sit down and start on her eggs and toast.

“ _That_ is not the only thing going on,” Lydia said. “Valentine’s kidnapping Mundanes.”

“What? Why…?”

“He must’ve discovered that making Shadowhunters isn’t easy. He’s taking the young, the fit and the combat-able. Right now, that’s the only lead we have. Aldertree wanted to bench you, but I told him you’re the best we have. He only agreed to let you out if I don’t let you out of my sight.”

Isabelle stopped with her cup of coffee midair. Then, she put it down again and asked: “What’s the plan?”

“There’s something I haven’t told Aldertree that I don’t think Clary realized, and which you need to know.”

That Lydia chose to preface whatever this was gave Isabelle a bad feeling. Lydia was direct and honest, almost brutally so. Her choosing to preface something read, to Isabelle, as a sort of a warning. “What is it?” she asked warily.

“The lines of fire. Whoever shot Valentine and Jocelyn-- I think they were covering Alec. _And_ he was glamoured. I saw him appear out of thin air. The gunfire came from behind where Alec had come from.”

Isabelle stared at Lydia. She was right - Clary still didn’t have the training, the instinct, to notice that sort of detail, to get that level of a tactical read. What Lydia described didn’t sound as if it was Alec’s rune glamouring him. It wounded as if a warlock was there, hiding Alec - and themselves. Or, more accurately, _himself._ “Magnus was there.”

Lydia nodded. “That’s what I think, too.”

“But why would he use a gun?”

“I don’t know. Which is why, as soon as we’re out of here, you’re going to talk to him.”

“And you’ll be…?”

“Doing the legwork we’re supposed to be doing. I can only buy you a few hours.”

“I’ll use them well,” Isabelle promised. She reached out and squeezed Lydia’s hand. “Thank you. Again.”

Lydia smiled faintly, then shook her head. “I need to leave now - if I sit with you long, Aldertree’ll suspect something is up. I’ll be on Ops. Laney’ll bring you to me when you’re ready.”

“Does she know…?”

Lydia shook her head again as she pushed herself up. “No. What I told you, only you know. I’m not sure how much Jocelyn figured out, but she knows _exactly_ how miserable Clary and I will _both_ make her life if she risks Alec’s.”

“Why are you helping us, Lydia?”

“Because what Aldertree is doing is wrong. And I’m not going to let him get away with it.”

“We won’t,” Isabelle said.

Lydia’s smile was still faint, but more genuine. “Exactly.”

* * *

Isabelle stepped into Magnus’s living room, stopped dead in her tracks, then ran forward. “Alec!”

Her brother got up from the couch and caught her as she flung herself at him.

For a long moment they clung to each other. Then Izzy let go a little, enough that she could look at his face. “You look like shit,” she told him.

It was Magnus who replied, wryly: “Hello to you, too.”

Isabelle smiled despite herself and glanced over at him. “Good morning.”

“Is it a good morning?”

“Valentine doesn’t have _both_ my brothers,” she pointed out. Then she looked back at Alec. “How did you get away? And who’s she?” There was a middle-aged woman sitting on Magnus’s other couch.

“Isabelle, Meirav,” Magnus said. “Meirav, Isabelle.”

Meirav nodded, but didn’t say a word.

“Jace sent me away,” Alec said. His voice sounded… exactly the way she’d’ve expected it to, if she knew what he was about to say.

“What? Why?”

“Valentine--" Alec took a deep breath. Isabelle knew him well enough to tell that he was bracing himself against some sort of pain. Whatever Valentine had done to Jace, whatever’s Jace been made to do - it had to be horrible.

She wasn’t wrong.

“Valentine has Jace convinced he has _demon blood_ ,” Alec said.

Isabelle stared at him, dumbstruck.

“Would you like something to drink?” Magnus asked. He sounded sympathetic.

Isabelle took a deep breath. “So long as it’s in coffee.”

“Izzy…”

“Alec, shut up. Detox rune’ll get it out of my system in seconds when I’m ready for it to. Let me have my spiked coffee.”

“In that case, there is Van Gogh Double Espresso in the freezer,” Meirav said dryly.

“That sounds like a fantastic idea,” Isabelle said as she maneuvered Alec and herself to the couch Alec had been sitting on earlier. “Also - who are you, again?”

“Meirav Lahav,” the woman replied with a straight face.

 _Lahav._ The word tugged at something in Isabelle’s memory, but she wasn’t sure what that was. She looked over at Magnus, who said: “Someone whose family is also at risk from Valentine.”

Something else occurred to Isabelle. She looked back at Meirav. “You wouldn’t happen to have brought a gun to a seraph blade fight last night, would you?”

“No, that was her nephew,” Alec said. “How’d you get away from the Institute? Aldertree…”

“Is being lied to by Lydia,” Isabelle replied. “She’s protecting us. Protecting you. She told Aldertree you were taken against your will.”

“And Jocelyn’s backing her up?” Alec asked skeptically.

“Jocelyn wants a relationship with her daughter.”

“Is that why she shot at her son?”

“Yeah, Clary told me that part. She was put together with Jocelyn when Lydia fetched me - she might have answers for us when Lydia and I get back to the Institute. Whatever Jocelyn may have told Aldertree, he isn’t sharing.”

“A conservative estimate would be that she thinks Jace has demon blood as well,” Meirav said.

“He doesn’t have demon blood,” Alec snapped at her.

Meirav just looked at him.

 _Lahav._ Suddenly, it clicked. “Lahav, that’s Hebrew,” Isabelle said. The word meant both _blade_ and _flame_.

“Very good, Isabelle,” Magnus said, appreciatively.

Alec glanced at her, startled, then looked back at Meirav and said: “You’re Israeli.”

 _Israel._ It was the only country in the world without a single Institute: demonic attacks were few and far between there for some reason, and there were never enough Shadowhunters for all the places that _did_ need them.

Someone was protecting Israel who wasn’t Shadowhunters. Magnus had said Meirav’s entire _family_ was at risk from Valentine. “What are you?”

For a long moment, Meirav just looked at them. Then, she said: “What do you know about Sighted Bloodlines?”

Isabelle’s mouth opened, but it was a moment before she found words. “That’s _real_?” she demanded.

“What are Sighted Bloodlines?” Alec asked.

“That’s when Sighted Mundanes marry other Sighted Mundanes until all the children born from that family are Sighted,” Isabelle said. “I thought it was only theoretical, I had no idea Bloodlines actually _exist._ ”

“We do try to keep our existence a secret from Shadowhunters,” Meirav said, dryly. “The last time you people found us, we lost an entire Bloodline.”

“The Cup,” Alec said.

“Exactly,” Meirav replied.

The Cup-- “No-one survived the conversion? But Sighted people usually…”

“That’s why they forced an entire family to drink from that damn Cup,” Meirav said. “But we have our own purpose, and it’s not to become Shadowhunters.”

“That’s why you want to fight Valentine,” Alec said.

“Oh, I don’t _want_ for my family to enter another fight,” Meirav said. For the first time, there was some emotion in her voice. “But I Saw it.”

“Meirav is a Seer,” Magnus said.

“That’s an angelic gift,” Alec said, flatly.

Meirav rolled her eyes.

“Most of what Shadowhunters call ‘angelic gifts’ crop up in Sighted Bloodlines, if they’re sufficiently well-established,” Magnus said.

“Can you see Jace?” Alec asked.

For a moment, Meirav just looked at him. Then she said, “I need pencil and paper.”

A sketchbook materialized on a coffee table, a pencil on top of it. “You said ‘pencil’, so I assumed,” Magnus said.

Meirav nodded and picked them up.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was Meirav sketching. Then she held out the book to Alec. “This man holds the key to finding your parabatai,” she said.

Isabelle and Alec looked at the book, then at each other. Then, Alec handed the book to Magnus, who looked at it and declared: “Luke Garroway.”

* * *

“And then Simon called,” Isabelle said exasperatedly. “Something about Aldertree _and_ Raphael wanting him to locate Camille. Which, apparently, requires a trip to _India._ And Magnus’s on-the-ground presence.”

Isabelle and Lydia were walking down the street, eating falafel for lunch. Lydia had already done the legwork to select which dojo to infiltrate first; now they needed to do the infiltration - or rather, when they finished their food.

“Anyway,” Isabelle continued, “we need to decide who should go and talk to Luke. The obvious choice would be Clary, but…”

Lydia shook her head. “No way I can get Clary out of the Institute. Not without blowing my cover.”

They needed Aldertree to keep trusting Lydia, or none of them would have any freedom - and then nobody would be looking for Jace who wanted to _save_ him.

“So it’s either Alec and this Meirav person, or us,” Isabelle summarized.

“On the one hand, Luke’s _had_ a parabatai. Alec might get rapport with him. On the other hand--"

“--he’s close with Jocelyn,” Isabelle completed. “Clary would know if it’s safe. Any chance you can at least talk to her?”

“It’ll be tricky. And will have to wait at least a few hours.”

Isabelle didn’t like ‘tricky’. That sounded like something that might risk Lydia’s good standing in Aldertree’s eyes. “If we’re going to wait, we may as well wait on Magnus. He’s known Luke for a while, too. And he won’t do anything to risk Alec.”

She only realized what she said after she’d said it.

Lydia looked at Isabelle’s expression, and said: “Izzy, please. I’m not blind.”

“Then why…?”

“That’s Alec’s choice, too,” Lydia said, oddly gentle.

That made no sense to Isabelle, but it was a bad time for her to pick a fight with Lydia.

“The question is,” Lydia said, and it was clear from her tone that she was changing the subject, “whether Alec would be ready to wait.”

Isabelle sighed. “For Magnus? He will.”

* * *

By the time they returned to the Institute it was late afternoon, and they’d failed to stop several Circle members from slitting their own throats to avoid capture. Judging from the atmosphere at Ops, they weren’t the only ones who hadn’t had a very good day.

Aldertree descended on top of them almost immediately. “Any luck?”

“Not yet,” Lydia said.

Aldertree pursed his lips and said nothing. Or at least, nothing about that; instead, he said, “We had to separate the Fairchild women. There was an altercation.”

Then he was gone.

“That doesn’t sound promising,” Isabelle said. It was rather obvious what the _altercation_ was about: Jocelyn having shot at Jace. If Aldertree hadn’t known about that before, he was certain to know about it now. Isabelle had no idea how it would affect the effort to rescue Jace and reinstate Alec.

Lydia shook her head. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your room. Then I’ll go sort that out.”

* * *

When dinner was delivered without Lydia, Isabelle didn’t think much about it. It was more likely that Lydia would only show up to brief Izzy before patrol - _if_ they were going out on patrol: they didn’t usually pull two shifts within the same 24 hours. These, however, were not usual times. And so, Isabelle used what time she had to rest. It was likely that she’d need it.

Lydia did indeed show up at about the time that the evening brief should’ve ended, like Isabelle expected. Much like in the morning, Lydia was regal and opaque right up until the door closed behind her and they had privacy. Unlike the morning, though, this time Isabelle knew that something was wrong.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I was planning on saving that for last,” Lydia said as she sat down on the bed next to Isabelle. “Because if tonight’s mission goes well, tomorrow you’re out of house arrest.”

Lydia’s tone was plain and factual as she said that, so Isabelle paid her the respect of actually thinking her words through. Being allowed unsupervised outside of her room would be a very good thing, but anything that could distract Isabelle to the degree that Lydia was worried about had to be about Alec or Jace or both of them - the rest of her family was in Idris, and less likely to have gotten into trouble of this magnitude.

There was also that Lydia said _mission_ , and not patrol. Aldertree had assigned them to something specific. That sort of a thing was likely to be more demanding than regular patrol, which was - in all likelihood - why Lydia wanted Isabelle as focused as possible.

Isabelle knew herself: it was better to just get whatever it was dealt with, and if Isabelle wasn’t up to whatever the mission was - then so be it. She shook her head and said: “Tell me.”

Lydia paid Isabelle the respect of not doubting her choice. She didn’t hesitate or delay before saying, “Luke had a piece of adamas and directions for using it to communicate between parabatai. It went wrong. Magnus estimates that we have about 24 hours to get Jace back before Alec dies.”

The words were a gut punch. Isabelle froze, unable to move - or, indeed, to think.

“The good news,” Lydia continued, voice still calm, “is that that’s probably doable. Meirav has a location pinned down on the map where she says Jace is going to turn up in a few hours, alone. Magnus has never been there so he couldn’t portal her there, but he _could_ portal her part of the way and she’ll take a cab from there.”

Isabelle’s lungs unlocked. The sigh she heaved wasn’t voluntary.

“And this is why I’m more focused on getting you your freedom back,” Lydia concluded.

Isabelle nodded, and forcefully swallowed in an effort to get her voice working again. “I’m going to need a minute.”

“Understandably,” Lydia said. “And-- I know it’s not the same thing, but I can’t deal with the thought of Alec dying, either.”

It wasn’t the same thing, but the way Lydia said it made it all right, somehow: Isabelle understood it the way that Lydia probably meant it. “That’s understandable also.”

Lydia smiled faintly.

Isabelle swallowed again - _That’s probably doable_ \- and said, tackling the next item on her mental to-do list: “So, about Clary.”

Lydia inhaled before saying: “Jocelyn absolutely told Aldertree about the demon blood. That’s what the incident between Clary and her was about - Jocelyn showed her a memory of something that happened when Jace was a baby.” Lydia bit her lip, then added: “Ragnor Fell had been in residence at Idris at the time. Jocelyn had taken Jace to him, and-- apparently he’d said that he’d only leave death and destruction in his wake.”

“That’s not Jace,” Isabelle said resolutely.

“The good news is I asked Magnus and he talked to Catarina Loss, and she intends to take Ragnor Fell out of the medical coma tonight. He’ll be available for questioning in a day or two, if nothing goes wrong. Hopefully, he’ll be able to shed some light on this.”

“Angel, I hope so,” Isabelle said. Then she took a deep breath, forced her shoulders down and backwards, and asked: “So, about this mission?”

“Are you sure you’re up for this? Because we got a diplomatic one.”

“I love diplomatic missions,” Isabelle said.

“A member of Luke’s pack has gone missing. There’s not a whole lot of people who can take on a werewolf, this happened during daytime, and there are definite signs of a struggle but no ichor where she was taken from.”

Vampires wouldn’t move during the day, warlocks were more likely to not leave signs of struggle behind and demons would’ve left ichor if a _struggle_ had occurred. That left only one option: “Valentine.”

Lydia confirmed Isabelle’s deduction with a node. “You and I are to figure out what happened there - why the girl was taken, maybe see if we can get any clues from the scene.” Lydia didn’t ask out loud, _Are you up for this?_ She probably knew that she didn’t need to.

Eventually, Isabelle nodded. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

Under different circumstances, Isabelle would’ve almost enjoyed the mission. They had a well-conserved scene, lots of biological evidence, access to the missing person’s belongings - and an eyewitness: it turned out that the missing girl’s grandfather was with her. Isabelle and Lydia focused on the scene and left the grandfather to Luke, who had some sort of portrait-making police software installed on his work laptop. As for the girl’s belongings, they quickly ruled out that these could help: either the girl was behind Valentine’s wards, or she was dead.

Isabelle was processing the scene; she had the better training for it. Lydia was attempting to track someone, anyone, from each biological sample that Isabelle could pull out and isolate. So far, they had nothing.

Luke was coming over. He was heading for Lydia, so Isabelle didn’t pause her work. A moment later, Lydia came over to her.

“Circle members brought a warlock with them,” she said. “He had markings on his face which suggest Valentine’s been experimenting on him, but…”

“…but Aldertree won’t care,” Isabelle completed. 

“Any luck?” Lydia asked.

Isabelle shook her head. Their best odds were finding a clump of the girl’s fur that didn’t have her grandfather’s mixed in - Isabelle had her field kit with her and could ID which blood sample was werewolf and which was Shadowhunter, but not which sample came from which wolf. The girl had her hair dyed white, and so her fur was unique.

A few moments later, Isabelle called sharply: “Lydia!”

The evidence bag she handed to the other Shadowhunter had a clump of white fur, still attached to blood-stained skin. If they couldn’t get a trace from _that_ , then the girl was still behind Valentine’s wards. Isabelle was hoping for that outcome; because if they could trace the girl from a biological sample but not from her belongings, then she was - in all likelihood - dead.

“I got a signal!” Lydia cried out. “It’s faint, but it’s there.”

The grandfather’s face lit up. It broke Isabelle’s heart, a little - whatever bit of it was still available for breaking, and not taken up by the peril that her brothers were in.

Alaric stepped closer to the grandfather, and nodded at Luke.

Luke said, “Let’s take my car.”

The signal took them to a beach outside city limits. There, Lydia stepped all the way down to the water line before she said: “Signal’s still faint.”

The three of them looked at each other. They all knew what it meant: the girl’s body was somewhere out there, under the waves. It must’ve been dumped from the ship far out, away from the shore.

“We _could_ rent a boat,” Luke said, “but we don’t have a diver.”

He and Isabelle both looked at Lydia, but she shook her head. “I don’t think we’d be able to get one, not…”

 _Not for a werewolf girl,_ Isabelle completed silently.

“I’m sorry,” Lydia added, more quietly.

“Yeah,” Luke said with a sigh, “so am I.”

* * *

Luke checked messages before getting behind the wheel again. When they got back within city limits, it became evident that he wasn’t driving them back to the scene.

“Where are we going?” Lydia asked.

“Jade Wolf,” he replied. “Alaric’s connected the laptop to the printer there.” He didn’t need to say, _We got printouts of the portraits._

“Anyone we recognize?” Isabelle asked.

All Luke said was, “Yeah.”

Alaric had the printouts in a cardboard folder. Luke glanced at them, and then handed the folder to Isabelle.

That he handed the folder to her and not to Lydia told Isabelle what she’d find there. She wasn’t wrong: the portrait at the top of the pile belonged to Valentine, but the second - the second belonged to Jace.

Mutely, Isabelle handed it to Lydia, who sighed.

“I can’t hold this back from Aldertree,” she said.

“I know,” Isabelle replied, though she’d hoped differently.

Lydia pulled out her phone. She replied to Isabelle’s sharp look with an exasperated one of her own, and said: “I’m texting _Magnus_.”

Isabelle felt appropriately chastised.

A moment later, Lydia’s expression cleared. “He says we can come over. They got Jace; Alec is awake.”

* * *

_Wednesday, September 14_

Alec and Jace were sitting next to each other. That made it easy on Isabelle: she ran into Magnus’s living room and threw her arms around them both. It was a long moment before she pulled back to consider them properly. Alec didn’t look as if he’d damn near _died_. Jace, on the other hand, looked like Hell. If you knew him, then you could tell that he had no input into what clothes he wore and that something had to be seriously wrong if he went longer than ten minutes without fixing his hair from the salt-crusted mess that it was. But even if you didn’t know him, there was no missing that he looked in pain - and if you did know what to look for, then you could tell that he looked as if he’d been in pain for quite some time.

Isabelle knew what to look for.

All she said, though, was: “We need to get you in a hot bath.”

Jace looked at her as if that sentence made no sense to him, which only strengthened her impression.

Alec, for his part, looked at Jace and said: “Izzy’s right.”

The look Jace gave him in reply said, quite clearly, just _how_ hairy the situation’s been.

It was the most normal she’d seen her brothers behave since - Angel, but since before they’d broken Meliorn out, all of them but Alec.

Isabelle hugged both of them again - partially to express her overflowing emotions, and partially to hide the tears in her eyes.

It’d been _weeks_.

“Someone has to ask the question, so I will,” Magnus said when Isabelle finally lifted her face again; he sat down, claiming the armchair. “What happens now?”

“I surrender--" Jace started saying.

“Like Hell--" Isabelle began, at the same time that Alec said, “No!”

“I don’t suppose asylum is an option,” Magnus said. He looked at Meirav as he said so; she was sitting on the small couch across from where Alec, Jace and Izzy were.

“Uri’ll love it,” Meirav said. She’d been sketching when Lydia and Isabelle arrived, and she hadn’t lifted her gaze from whatever she was sketching since. “Shosh, not so much.”

“How many of you people are there?” Alec asked.

Meirav looked up at that. She smiled a thin, humorless smile at him, and said nothing. Then she returned to her sketch.

Magnus sighed.

“I’m not hiding,” Jace said irritably.

“Would you rather spend the rest of your life in Silent City?” Isabelle demanded.

“That’s not going to happen,” Meirav said.

Magnus looked at her sharply.

“You can See that?” Alec asked hopefully.

“Not exactly,” Meirav said. She put the sketchbook down in the middle of the coffee table.

Isabelle grabbed the book. Meirav had sketched the scene of a massacre, and those were obviously Silent City’s halls, and the Silent Brothers lying in them, just as obviously dead. “We need to--"

“Isabelle,” Magnus said. There was something in his voice that Isabelle didn’t like, and which stopped her. “If there was anything that any of us could do to change this, then Meirav wouldn’t have been able to See it.”

“Are you telling me that we need to _let_ the Silent Brothers get slaughtered?” Isabelle demanded.

“He’s telling you I’m not a prophet,” Meirav said. “I can’t guide you; I can only tell you what’s inevitable.”

Alec looked at Magnus. “I don’t suppose you know a prophet.”

“Oh, you better _hope_ we won’t need a prophet to defeat Valentine,” Magnus said.

“We’re getting off topic,” Lydia said. “If Magnus says we can’t save the Silent Brothers, then we can’t save them. But we still need to save Alec and Jace. I hate to say it, but what Meirav saw plays in our favor. Trial by Sword would’ve incriminated all of us.”

Because the Sword compelled the truth, Isabelle realized, and Lydia had lied on Alec’s behalf.

“That means dealing with Inquisitor Herondale,” Alec said. “Again. And this time Aldertree will be the prosecutor, and he won’t throw the trial.”

“For all the good that did,” Lydia shot back.

“It will probably be unwise for me to represent your family again,” Magnus said.

“Fine,” Lydia said. “I’ll do it.”

“You’ll represent Alec,” Jace said. “I’ll--"

“What part,” Alec cut him off; his anger was showing, “of ‘Where you go I will go’ wasn’t clear the first time?”

“Our parents are already lost to Idris, I’m not losing _either_ of you,” Isabelle said sharply. “We’re a team. We’re family.”

“You don’t want me for family, Iz,” Jace said.

Isabelle lifted a finger, and told him: “Shut up.”

Jace opened his mouth, but Magnus spoke first. “The trial is winnable. Or else Meirav would already be sketching its outcome.”

The same logic also dictated that they could lose the trial, but Isabelle didn’t feel like pointing that out. Besides, to judge by everyone else’s faces, Jace and Lydia had done the same math.

“I don’t suppose you can tell us when this,” Magnus leaned forward and tapped his finger against Meirav’s sketch, “is going to happen, can you?”

“Within the next 24 hours,” Meirav said promptly.

“Then I suggest we stay the decision until that has come to pass,” Magnus said. “Alec and Jace will remain here for the meantime.”


	7. Five of Pentacles (Magnus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Material Trouble. Hardship, loss, disgrace. Reversed: trust tested and true, recovery.

_Monday, September 12_

“What the hell just happened?” Uri demanded in Hebrew as soon as they stepped back through the portal to Magnus’s living room. “And who was that with the crossbow?”

“Parabatai,” Magnus replied, letting the one word carry the wealth of his emotions on the matter, “and Jace’s mother.”

Uri’s expression was priceless. Then he shook his head. “Should’ve brought my Galil.”

“Does it have a silencer?” Magnus asked pointedly.

Uri waved his hand dismissively, as if saying, _Details._ “Would’ve gotten us a dead Valentine.”

It would’ve also gotten them a dead Jocelyn, and Magnus wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Plus, Magnus would’ve needed--

His phone buzzed softly. Magnus pulled it out of his pocket, then stared: Meirav had sent an image to the group on which Magnus had earlier asked for help. Meirav rarely sent her sketches to any of the groups.

With trepidation, Magnus tapped the image so that it would download - then swore out loud.

Uri gave him a quizzical look.

“Check your phone,” Magnus told him.

Uri did. Then he, too, swore.

The image was of one of Meirav’s sketches - one of Meirav’s visions. Usually, she sent those only to the people who appeared in them; at most, she sent them to those who _needed_ to know what was coming - and Meirav’s definition of “need” in this context was stringent. For Meirav to send a sketch to the entirety of both her family and the family of her brother’s late wife was a serious statement.

That wasn’t why Magnus and Uri both swore out loud, though. The reason for _that_ was the content of the sketch. In the image, two people were facing each other in Magnus’s living room. There was no tension in their body language; their identities were the reason for the swearing. Alec was to the right; the rune on his neck was visible, clearly marking him as a Shadowhunter. Facing Alec was Meirav herself.

As a rule, the Bloodlines did not work with outsiders. Magnus was an exception. He’d found them by accident: he’d been chasing down Jewish mystics, looking for every shred of information that he could find about his father, fascinated by how differently Asmodeus - or, as he was called in Hebrew, Ashmedai - was depicted in Jewish lore. He’d run into the Bnei Anat’s _ba’alat messora_ , loremaster, of the time - and discovered that as his father was a so-called Jewish demon, the Bloodlines were willing to consider Magnus himself something of a cousin.

“Grandma’s gonna flip,” Uri said, in Hebrew still.

Sarah Lahav, Meirav’s mother - Uri’s father’s mother - had died the year before; Uri’s remaining grandmother was Shosh Bat Anat, the current _ba’alat messora_ of her bloodline. She was the only person in all of the Bloodlines who could - and did - stand up to Meirav. And Uri wasn’t wrong: Shosh’s ire was likely to be formidable.

The things Meirav Saw weren’t _possibilities_ , though; they were inevitable, necessities that couldn’t be avoided. If Meirav Saw herself meeting Alec then that would come to pass - and, odds were, sooner rather than later.

* * *

_Tuesday, September 13_

There were reasons that Magnus always kept a fresh batch of his go-to sleep potion; restless nights were a thing that happened. This time, at least, Magnus knew why he was having difficulties falling asleep. He couldn’t afford sleeplessness, not at a time like this.

Even with the potion, he only slept for six hours and woke up at first light. He was working his way through his second cup of coffee when his phone rang.

“It would help if I knew what’s going on,” Meirav said in English.

“Entirely too much,” he replied. “We live in interesting times.”

Meirav ignored that in favor of asking: “Also, since when do you have a Shadowhunter boyfriend?”

“Alec is not my boyfriend,” he corrected. Although, if Meirav said that…

“Yet,” she replied, unperturbed. “I hope that’s not upsetting to you.”

“As a matter of fact, it’s the best news I heard in a while.”

“Oh good,” Meirav said, matching his tone. Then she waited.

“You may as well come over,” Magnus eventually said.

“I’m in the kitchen,” she replied, so he’d know where to send the portal to.

A moment later she stepped into his living room, carrying a bowl of stir-fry; it was lunch time in Israel.

“Shosh is going to kill you,” he said conversationally.

“Shosh is going to try,” she corrected as she settled down on the smaller couch. “Catch me up?”

“That’s going to take a while.”

Meirav glanced at the window - possibly at the light coming in from the sky - and said: “We have about half an hour.”

“Until…” Magnus asked carefully.

“Your boyfriend joins us.”

“Meirav,” he sighed. “The boy is still technically engaged. To another Shadowhunter.”

Meirav blinked, then said: “Counseling later. Debrief now.”

* * *

Meirav’s sense of time was as impeccable as ever. At 27 minutes, she declared a need for coffee and went into the kitchen. Magnus, who knew better than to argue with Israelis on the matter of coffee, didn’t follow her.

That was how he was alone in the living room when a portal opened, and - almost before Magnus had the time to tense - Alec stepped through.

Something was wrong: Magnus could tell that as soon as he laid eyes on Alec. And, indeed, once he stepped through the portal Alec stopped, as if he had no idea what to do next. He was staring into the middle distance, too, rather than making eye contact or even _glancing_ at Magnus.

Magnus walked up to him and gently touched Alec’s face. His guess - or rather, his deduction - proved correct: there was another warlock’s magic in Alec’s mind. There was something familiar about the style and feel of the magic, but Magnus couldn’t place it.

He knew this spell, and it made his stomach turn: the familiar-yet-not magic covered Alec’s mind like a thick blanket, silencing Alec himself and giving free reign to the warlock who cast it. It pissed him off almost on principle - this sort of a thing was why warlocks weren’t trusted - and also in a more specific way. Hadn’t Alec been through enough? Hadn’t _Magnus_ put him through enough, that now this happened to him, too? And yet - Magnus was aware - whoever had cast this spell didn’t continue to use it. They’d sent Alec through the portal, and that was it.

The spell was done with skill, but not with considerable power; already it was unraveling. Magnus didn’t feel like waiting until it would fade on its own. Instead he tore right through it.

Alec inhaled sharply, deeply, like someone who just emerged from a literal - rather than a metaphorical - depth. Unsurprisingly, the first word out of his mouth was “Jace”. Then he surprised Magnus completely by saying: “Dot. Dot Rollins.”

Dot? But Dot was dead. Why would Alec… Suddenly, with nauseating clarity, it snapped into place: the familiar-yet-not magic in Alec’s mind was _Dot’s._

“Dot is alive?” Magnus asked, horrified. He’d told Clary that Dot was dead _weeks_ before. Had Valentine had Dot this whole time? Had he…?

Alec’s next words confirmed Magnus’s fears. “Valentine has her, he’s been experimenting on her. She sent me here.” Pain flitted across Alec’s face; for a moment, he closed his eyes. “Jace told her to.”

Alec’s parabatai did what? “Did Valentine coerce him?” Magnus asked. It made no sense otherwise.

Alec shook his head. “Not directly. But Jace told me-- Valentine showed him a memory, if that’s what it really was-- he said--"

Deliberately-loud footsteps announced Meirav’s return from the kitchen. Magnus turned his head: she was carrying two cups of coffee. It surprised him none at all that she handed one of them to Alec; it was probably prepared exactly how Alec liked it, too.

“Meirav,” she said.

“I’m sorry?” Alec asked.

“It’s her name,” Magnus explained. “She’s a friend - she’s Uri’s aunt.”

“The one he said was going to have words?” Alec asked.

Meirav gave a short bark of genuine laughter. “It’s good to know the kid has at least _some_ sense in him.”

Magnus sighed. Then he gestured and maneuvered the three of them to the couches. Meirav took up the small couch again; Magnus took the middle of the big one. Alec sat down next to Magnus, close enough that Magnus could easily rest his hand on Alec’s knee if he so wanted.

Or rather, if he dared.

“What did Valentine show Jace?” Magnus asked instead.

“That Valentine had experimented on Jace when he was in the womb. Treated him with _demon blood_.” Disgust and disbelief were both clear in Alec’s voice.

“That makes _exceptionally_ little sense,” Magnus said. His thoughts were racing. He knew what effect pure demon blood _should_ have had on Jace - on anyone - but he also knew how Downworlders _should_ behave and how different bigoted expectations were from reality. That was speculation, though; how a Shadowhunter would react to being told they’d been treated with demon blood, not so much - and yes, that certainly explained why Jace had sent his parabatai away.

“Unless you’re a genocidal maniac who fancies himself a second Mengele,” Meirav said, responding to Magnus’s words. Her voice was - if you knew what to listen for - not entirely without emotion.

“What?” Alec asked.

Magnus waved his hand. “Mundane history.” He wanted to add, _Don’t look it up unless you **want** the nightmare fodder_, but that was an incredibly tone-deaf thing to say with a Jewish person in the room, particularly a Lahav.

There was always at least one Lahav Seer alive, and none of them could change what they Saw.

Meirav gave Magnus precisely the sort of a look he’d been bracing for, given he’d just dismissed the horror that was Mengele, but mercifully she didn’t see the need to impart a history lesson. Instead, she said: “And like Mengele, his science is most likely bad.”

* * *

In retrospect, Alec’s return from Valentine’s ship was the highlight of Magnus’s day. Isabelle was a delight as always when she came in, less than an hour later, but Magnus did not get to enjoy her presence for long before Simon Lewis called, frantic: Raphael and Aldertree had both tasked him with retrieving Camille, and neither of them had been kind - or, indeed, patient.

Simon had been a vampire for just under two weeks; sending him on his own to any place that Camille housed her things at was unacceptable. Magnus would be first in line to take his own head off had he done that; Clary would’ve been second, and Magnus figured that after 12 years of memory wipes she deserved better than that from him.

And did Magnus get to put his head together again, after the trip down memory lane that the visit to Camille’s India dwelling was? No, he did not, because by then Alec was climbing the walls, and Meirav looked like she’d be sorely tempted to visit the Van Gogh in the freezer herself as soon as Magnus got Alec out of her hair.

Luke frowned when the two of them stepped into the Jade Wolf, Magnus having politely set their portal to outside the door rather than inside the restaurant.

“Something tells me that this isn’t a social call,” Luke said.

“I wonder why that is,” Magnus said with fake levity.

Luke gave him precisely the Look that Magnus expected to receive for that.

“Do you know a way I could get to Jace?” Alec asked, cutting straight to the chase.

That wasn’t how Magnus would’ve approached the situation but, he thought, watching Luke’s wince, it might not have been a terrible idea on Alec’s part.

“Because a little birdie told us that you do,” Magnus said in the same tone of voice as before. Perhaps giving Luke the feeling that he had nowhere to hide - metaphorically speaking - would encourage him to _not_ give them the brick wall treatment.

Or at least, less of it.

Luke gave him another shit look. “One of these days I would like to meet your ‘birdie’, Magnus.”

“Oh, I have a whole flock,” Magnus said brightly.

Alec, mercifully, managed to remember that Meirav’s involvement was to remain discrete.

“Look,” Magnus said. “One way or the other, we _are_ going to track Jace.” He tried to keep his mind off the way that Alec shifted closer at the word _we_. “The only question is whether we’ll do it your way - assuming you do have a way - or using the parabatai tracking rune.” Luke still looked undecided, so Magnus threw in what he thought would be his ace: “Which Alec here last used just under two weeks ago.”

He wasn’t wrong: Luke’s eyes widened at that. No doubt he heard precisely what Magnus intended for him to: the very real risk of Alec and Jace’s bond unraveling completely.

Luke stepped back from them and reached for a maneki-neko that the restaurant had on display for whatever reason, then - without any warning whatsoever - smashed it on the floor.

And there, in the debris, was the reason that Luke had done that. Magnus’s eyes fastened to the green faceted stone that Luke picked up and carefully held out to Alec.

“That’s adamas,” Magnus said, when it became obvious that Alec had no idea what that was.

“From my mother,” Luke confirmed. “She told me that in ancient times, parabatai would use it to communicate across great distances. It enhances your bond. It’s probably safer than your alternative, but only just: if you go in too deep, you might not come back.”

That was a warning to be taken seriously. Magnus’s heart skipped a beat.

Expectedly, though, Alec didn’t hesitate at all as he reached forward and took the adamas from Luke’s hand. “I’ll take my chances.”

* * *

Alec settled on the couch as soon as they stepped back through the portal to Magnus’s living room. It was all Magnus could do to make him wait the 30 seconds that it took to explain to Meirav what was about to unfold.

Watching Meirav’s face and posture, Magnus thought that as much as he usually appreciated her being unflappable, in that moment he could use some sort of reaction, some sort of acknowledgment on her part of the emotional weight of what was about to unfold.

Then again - Magnus thought ruefully as Meirav settled down on the other couch without a single word - that she was still there was, perhaps, testament enough that she _did_ understand. Meirav’s youngest was 15 and it was dinner time in Israel, yet Meirav had not phoned home in the entire time she’d been at Magnus’s that day; he hadn’t seen her so much as glance at her phone. There was nothing for her to _do_ at Magnus’s - nothing, except to provide a solid, supportive presence.

Alec’s body was taut; his expression was stony; but his eyes sought Magnus’s.

Parabatai: a bond that transcended words. There was no imagining what Alec was going through, with a part of his very soul locked out of his reach. It must’ve been a truly lonely experience. And yet, even in the middle of _that_ \- there he was, in Magnus’s home, his eyes fastened to Magnus’s with a silent plea.

Magnus gave in to the impulse and settled on the rug, next to the bigger couch, so that he was eye-level with Alec.

Alec closed his eyes and put his right hand - that held the adamas - over his chest; over his heart.

The angelic power of the adamas unfolded in the room, so foreign there, in a warlock’s den. It wasn’t a kind power, or a soft one; but then again, no-one who knew the ones that angels called their children would expect it to be.

A tremor ran through Alec’s body.

“Alec?” Magnus asked tentatively. “Do you see him?”

Another tremor.

“Alec?”

He began shaking. Magnus had just enough time to think that that was never a good sign, when another ill omen occurred: Alec’s nose started to bleed.

“Alec?” Magnus asked urgently. “Alec, if you can hear me--"

Alec’s body arched suddenly and violently as a seizure overtook him.

Spell ingredients flashed through Magnus’s mind, everything he had in stock that could help mitigate the angelic bond’s raw, boundless power--

Alec’s muscles relaxed as the seizure ended. No, Magnus thought, eying Alec critically: his muscles relaxed _too_ much. Carefully, hesitantly, all too aware that Alec was steeped in angelic energy in that moment, Magnus put his hand over Alec’s forehead and reached with a delicate tendril of magic. Unfortunately, Magnus found what he expected to find: the anchor that tethered Alec’s soul to his body was stretched to the limit. Alec had done precisely what Luke had warned him not to do, and gone too deep.

Those spell ingredients--

Magnus pushed himself up and went to fetch those. He knew all the formulas, all the spells, everything that could help Alec survive this--

“Magnus.”

Magnus raised his eyes from his work. Meirav was holding out to him a mug of what looked like coffee - but then he recognized the smell of masala chai. Meirav had probably sweetened it to high hell, too.

“It’s been an hour,” she said.

It took Magnus a few seconds to put the mortar and pestle down and take the mug from her hands. “It has?”

Meirav waited.

“I can’t save him,” he said eventually. The words were bitter on his tongue. “I’m afraid only his parabatai can.”

“How long?”

“20, 30 hours.”

The muscles in Meirav’s face shifted, just a tiny bit, but Magnus had known her since she was a week old. “Did you just…?”

“I know where Jace will be,” she said. “He’ll be on his own. But I’ll need a portal.”

Magnus took a deep inhale. It got stuck in his chest. Mutely, he nodded.

“And a travel mug,” she added; her tone was thoughtful, but that was probably for show. “Kid’s going to be freezing.”

Magnus stared at her, then laughed until he cried.

* * *

Magnus would’ve portalled Meirav as close as he was able to the beach she pinpointed on the map straight away, but she wouldn’t have it: she wouldn’t leave Magnus on his own. It was equal parts endearing and frustrating. There was a measure of relief in having another living presence in his space, but - oh, intellectually he knew that sending her out would not bring Jace to them, to _Alec_ , any sooner. But it felt as if it would.

Uri didn’t even complain about being woken at 3AM; he just trudged through the portal - this time having taken the time to get dressed first - and set about dealing with the clutter that Magnus had already created.

It was half an hour’s drive between the beach where Jace was going to wash up and the club to which Magnus could portal Meirav. She’d only been gone for 20 minutes when Magnus’s phone rang.

It was Luke’s number and somehow, Magnus didn’t think he called to ask how his party trick was performing.

He wasn’t wrong.

“Circle’s grabbed one of my pack,” Luke said without preamble. “Only witness got beat up bad, he only just got here.”

That had to be a _serious_ beating - werewolves healed faster than Mundanes did; and Magnus owed Luke a favor for the adamas. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Luke was asking Magnus to track whoever it was that Valentine had grabbed. However, “Two slight problems. Valentine’s on a cloaked ship; I couldn’t track Jace there either. And also,” Magnus glanced down, at Alec’s pale face, “Alec’s in a bad way.” He trusted that Luke would understand just what Magnus meant by that.

Indeed, when Luke spoke - a full two seconds later - it was to say: “Without Jace--"

Alec would _die._ “I know,” Magnus snapped. Alec’s current predicament wasn’t Luke’s fault. Magnus knew that, but it didn’t _feel_ that way.

“All right,” Luke said after a beat. “Good luck.”

The tone of his voice indicated that he’d decided Magnus needed Handling, but Magnus was too worried, too _something_ , to care about that. “You too,” he said, more flatly than Luke deserved, and disconnected the line.

45 minutes later Magnus’s phone rang again. This time, it _was_ Meirav.

“Did you find him?” Magnus asked by way of hello.

The voice on the other end of the line wasn’t Meirav’s; even better, it was _Jace’s._ “Depends on who she was looking for.”

“Jace! Oh thank goodness.” Jace could be there within 30 to 40 minutes; that was plenty of time to save Alec - assuming, of course, that nothing else would go wrong.

“So I take it Meirav really is a friend of yours?” Jace asked.

It occurred to Magnus that Jace sounded like hell. That wasn’t surprising - and was also a problem for later. “Absolutely. Get back here as soon as possible. Alec needs you.”

Jace hung up.

35 minutes later, Magnus’s phone dinged. The text from Meirav read, _We’re here._

Perhaps five seconds later, Meirav and Jace were standing in Magnus’s living room.

Jace was too pale as well; Magnus suspected that if inspected, the tips of his fingers would turn out to be blue. His shoulders were pitched high. In fact, his entire body language could be summarily described as _skittish._

Jace’s eyes were glued to Alec immediately, fear rising in his expression, but Meirav touched his elbow and said, gently as she was able: “Unless things are more dire than they should be, you’re going to change into something dry first.”

Jace turned to stare at her. Meirav met his gaze. The only person Magnus knew who could win a staring contest against Meirav was Shosh. And yet, for a second, Magnus thought that Jace would protest.

Then the fight went out of him.

“I lost my stele,” was the first thing Jace said when he returned dressed in clean, dry, whole clothes - and, Magnus noted, having done nothing about his hair, which most definitely looked as if Jace had taken a saltwater swim.

“Shouldn’t matter for the task at hand; this is all you need,” Magnus replied. He handed Jace the adamas and - upon Jace’s look of non-comprehension - explained: “It’s adamas. Alec used it to try and communicate with you through your Bond, without destroying it.”

The emotion on Jace’s face wasn’t fear; it was downright terror. “And his soul got stuck in the middle.”

“Yes,” Magnus confirmed; the word felt like a ball of barbed wire coming up.

Then, he got himself out of the way.

He’d tried, he’d tried, he’d _tried_ to bring Alec back from the twilight. He did. There was nothing he could do but slow down the process of Alec _dying_ \- and even that, not by much. Everything depended on Jace, and Magnus couldn’t not see how fragile the boy was. From where would Jace find the strength to call Alec back, when he was almost swaying on his feet?

The adamas glowed a bright gold as Jace began his recitation of the parabatai oath. For a moment, Magnus thought that things just might go well. Then, though, the glow dimmed, and dimmed, and dimmed - until by the time that Jace’s voice died off, the stone’s light was barely even sputtering.

Magnus felt cold. His heart was in his throat. The helplessness was very nearly a tangible thing for him to choke on. Were they too late? Had Alec’s soul drifted too far? Had the anchor that connected body and soul become too damaged? So many things that could’ve gone wrong, and any one of them would spell Alec’s death.

Jace’s and Alec’s hands went slack. The adamas fell down to the rug. It was completely dark: the light that’d shone from within it had gone out.

_No,_ Magnus thought, _No no no no no--_

And then, like a miracle, Alec’s voice, only just audible, reciting the final words of the oath, picking up exactly where Jace had left off.

Magnus sank into the armchair; his knees were not holding him up. Someone pressed a cold glass of water into his hand, but he wasn’t sure who that was. It didn’t matter; only one thing did.

Alec was going to live.

* * *

_Wednesday, September 14_

If there was a question of how well - or rather, how badly - Jace was doing, that he wouldn’t leave Alec’s side even to take a hot bath was rather telling. For the first few hours after being woken, Alec had been doing about as well - or rather, about as unwell. After all the other guests had left, though, around four in the morning, Alec looked at his parabatai and said: “You need a shower.”

“A bath,” Magnus corrected him. “In this house, we have baths. With bubbles.”

Jace attempted to glare at him. It was a valiant attempt, too, but nevertheless a failed one.

Magnus replied with the most beatific smile he could pull up. It almost, but not quite, dredged a smile out of Alec. Nevertheless, Magnus decided that it was worth the effort.

With Jace safely escorted to the bathroom, Alec followed Magnus out to the balcony.

“Tea?” Magnus offered. Meirav, it turned out, had used the largest teapot in Magnus’s kitchen when she made the masala chai - a pot that was also enchanted to keep its contents hot.

“Sure.”

The face that Alec made at the first excessively-sweet sip was hilarious. “I think I had more sugar in the last few hours than I usually have in a week.”

“You could use it,” Magnus told him, “the brain uses no energy source but glucose, and yours has been running on high gear for a while.”

Alec blinked as if the thought was new to him, which it probably was. When he spoke, though, what he said was: “It did make a difference. You did.”

The words hit Magnus straight in his solar plexus, freezing him as effectively as a punch would’ve. This was a much more pleasant shock, though.

“I don’t remember everything,” Alec continued. His eyes were fastened to Magnus’s. “Bits and pieces. But I remember you, I felt you, and…” Alec’s eyes shifted just a little bit down - and Magnus knew.

He knew exactly what it was that Alec remembered. It had been during the agonizing one-hour-and-fifteen-minutes that Meirav was gone. He’d sent Uri to fetch the goose down duvet that Magnus only rarely used because he refused to let his bedroom descend into sufficiently low temperatures; Alec’s body temperature had begun to drop, though, and Magnus couldn’t rely on magic to keep him warm, not with the out-of-control energy of the angelic parabatai Bond raging in Alec’s body. Magnus had been terrified; it didn’t escape his notice that Meirav hadn’t _said_ that Jace would get there in time, only that she knew could find Jace; it meant that Magnus could screw it up - that Magnus could make the wrong decision, and that that decision could result in Alec’s death. It was an unbearable thought. That was, perhaps, why Magnus had done what he had, which was call up on some very old, very powerful magic that - nevertheless - should’ve at the very least not interfered with the angelic energy that Alec had been steeped in.

He’d kissed Alec.

And Alec remembered it. Remembered it, and said that it _helped_. Said that, and was looking at Magnus’s lips as he’d done so.

He could kiss Alec again. It was very obvious that Alec wouldn’t protest. That Alec--

Magnus forced his thoughts away from that path. Oh, yes, Alec wouldn’t protest - but there was a whole lot that Magnus could do and Alec wouldn’t protest. Magnus knew the sort of a look that Alec had to him: it was the look of one who was weary, and wary - and weary of being wary - and who let go of their guard. Alec _trusted_ Magnus. And oh, Magnus _wanted_ to kiss Alec, he wanted it enough that it was physically painful - and he knew that he couldn’t, that he had to wait for Alec to make a move, or else he’d always wonder how much of what followed Alec actually wanted, and how much was because Magnus wanted it.

Besides which, Alec was still engaged to Lydia.

Out of the entire spinning mess of thoughts in Magnus’s head, the words that tumbled out, so softly that until Alec’s expression changed Magnus wasn’t completely sure that he spoke them out loud were: “If you died…” Magnus swallowed. “Please try to not have another near-death experience. For at least a week.”

It was the right thing to have said; Alec nearly smiled. “I’ll try.”

* * *

“I was beginning to worry,” Catarina said over the phone.

“Only beginning to?” Magnus replied. He tried to keep his tone light and teasing, but he wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded.

It was six in the morning; the sky was lit. It’d been an hour and a half since he fed both Alec and his parabatai a sleep potion and sent them to bed. He was mildly worried that Jace hadn’t even _looked_ as if he wanted to protest that, but the best cure for him was at least six hours of nightmare-free sleep, preferably cuddled with his parabatai - and the potion should ensure at least the former part. Magnus had upped his wards a little, enough that he would know if that failed. In the meantime, he was sitting in his living room, and swapped the tea for cognac.

“At first I thought that perhaps, after all those centuries, you had learned to not hover,” she said. Her light and teasing tone was about as successful as his; it made Magnus feel a little bit better. “You haven’t checked in on Ragnor in almost 48 hours. What on earth happened, Magnus?”

He sighed, put his cognac down, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “To start with, Dot is alive. Valentine still has her. On the bright side, he no longer has Jace - or Alec.”

A portal opened in front of him, and Catarina stepped out of it, still holding her phone in her hand. “He had _Alec?_ ” she demanded. Then she noticed the snifter on the coffee table. “How much of that did you have?”

“It’s my first,” he told her. It was even true.

Catarina still eyed him critically for a moment before sitting down next to him. “You shouldn’t have gone through that alone.”

“You have a day job, Catarina. And Ragnor. And besides, I wasn’t alone.”

Catarina’s expression said precisely what she thought about that.

“I think it may be a cold day in Edom,” he said before she could voice anything, “because the Bloodlines decided to get involved.”

It actually took her several seconds to recover from _that._ “The Bloodlines?” she demanded. “The fanatically secretive Bloodlines who refuse to interact with anyone who is not you? _Those_ Bloodlines got involved in _Shadowhunter_ business?”

“The very same,” he told her.

“How did you manage that?”

“Oh, I didn’t; one of their Seers Saw it.”

Catarina stared at him. Then she pointed at the snifter. “I’ll have one of those.”

“It’s cognac, not bourbon,” he told her, but summoned her a glass nevertheless.

The look she gave him said she was very well aware. She picked up her cognac, took a sip, then rolled her shoulders and sighed. “Well, I come bearing good news. I started reducing Ragnor’s potions last night. He’s taking well to it so far. I think he might wake up in a few hours.”

“Put that down,” Magnus told her, pointing at her snifter, even as he put his down.

Catarina probably knew why he said that because she put it down without a comment or a look, and hugged him back as soon as he hugged her.

He held on to her for a while.


End file.
